"Oh, Moms!" Trixie exclaimed, plopping onto a kitchen chair and selecting one of the few cookies that had not been sent into hiding. "I'll just die if Brian doesn't make it home for Christmas!"

"Now, Trixie," Mrs. Belden admonished. "You know that he'll do everything in his power to be here. After all, I can't imagine that he wants to spend Christmas in a strange city with no family."

Trixie nodded vigorously and took another bite of the cookie. She simply couldn't fathom spending Christmas anywhere other than Crabapple Farm, and she was heart-broken at the idea that her oldest brother might be forced to.

"And even if he isn't here for Christmas day," Mrs. Belden continued, "he's promised that he'll come for a visit before long. New Year's at the latest, he said."

It didn't help. Trixie stared morosely at the remainder of the cookie and watched as it crumbled. The last few days had been wonderful. Honey had turned out to be excellent company, and Mr. Frayne was slowly but surely recovering, though Mrs. Vanderpoel still forbade him leaving the house. He'd ventured down to the sitting room, and they'd amused themselves with a number of quiet games, including charades, chess, and Trixie's favourite card game, Dutch Blitz. Honey had participated in charades, but had declined to join them for chess by claiming that it gave her a headache.

Trixie snorted. A headache, indeed! The beautiful young guest had been the very picture of health for the duration of her stay, and she wondered how she had ever thought of her new friend as sickly. She didn't have the boisterous energy that Trixie and her brothers shared, but she was capable of sitting and working on her fringe long after Trixie would have given up due to a headache or general boredom.

"Trixie!" Honey called from the sitting room. "Bobby's found a checker board! Won't you come play?"

She brightened immediately, thankful for a diversion from missing her oldest brother. Even if it meant the revival of the game she'd sworn not to play willingly again.

"Go on," Mrs. Belden encouraged. "Honey and Mr. Frayne are both too polite to say no to Bobby."

Trixie snorted. Growing up, she'd been conned into playing many a game with her younger brother while looking after him. She, unlike their guests, however, was fully capable of saying no, and had done so on principle for the last few years. But surely he'd grown up since then. After all, it wasn't as if Bobby was still a petulant, demanding six-year-old.

No. He was now a petulant, demanding thirteen-year-old.

Still, she didn't think it would be very sporting of her to let Honey and Mr. Frayne bear the brunt of her brother's terrible game manners.

When she reached the sitting room, Bobby and Honey were carefully placing the round pieces on the checkered board, though Bobby's attention was quite obviously on the beautiful young woman and not the game. Mr. Frayne was looking on, amusement warring with chagrin, if she was judging his expression correctly.

"Partner playing, then?" Trixie asked, referring the convoluted set of rules she and her brothers had devised when they'd spent long winter evenings amusing themselves with games. "Or tournament?"

"Oh! Partner playing, I think," Honey said. "I haven't played checkers in quite a while; it's possible I've forgotten most of the rules," she said, her tone gently teasing. The rules of checkers, after all, were not terribly complicated.

Mr. Frayne covered a snort with a cough and deliberately looked away from the elated expression on the younger Belden's face. "Family against family, then?" he inquired, causing Bobby to frown.

"No!" Bobby protested. "I don't want to play with my sister." He paused, and then looked sheepishly at his sister.

"Not to worry," Trixie said drily. "I'm not eager to play with you, either." In an attempt to further the teasing Mr. Frayne had started, she suggested, "Boys against girls?"

Bobby's eyes grew comically wide as he realized that this would once again separate him from his first choice of a partner.

"Oh, we'd better not," Honey said. "That wouldn't be fair at all!"

Bobby nodded. "You're right, Miss Wheeler," he agreed. "It wouldn't be fair at all to put Mr. Frayne and me against you and Trixie." He lowered his voice and leaned closer to her to whisper, "Miss Trask had to tutor Trixie in mathematics."

While Trixie sputtered in outrage, Honey merely lifted one eyebrow. "I meant that I most likely have considerably more experience with checkers than you do. It was one of the few games my governess allowed me to play."

Bobby's flush equaled his sister's. "Oh."

"Ha!" Trixie gloated, her earlier embarrassment at Bobby revealing her scholastic failures fading. For good measure, though, she taunted him by screwing her face into a ridiculous expression and smirking. "Serves you right," she muttered. "And don't think I've forgotten who had to write to dear big brother Brian last month to help his biology grade."

Bobby shrugged. "It would be silly not to use the resources at my disposal," he said, pretending to be serious.

Trixie snorted. "It sounds as if Mart has been helping you with your homework. You're going to want to put a stop to that as soon as possible; Miss Trask has very little patience for long-windedness."

"I wish this Miss Trask would have had a talk with my governess," Honey said with a grimace. "I can't tell you the many hours I spent writing essays on the proper deportment of a young lady."

"That sounds worse than trigonometry," Bobby sympathised, eyes wide.

"Nothing is worse than trigonometry!" Trixie and Honey exclaimed in unison, breaking the tension and causing both Mr. Frayne and Bobby to laugh.

The game progressed with rather less bickering than was customary in the Belden household. Bobby was completely enamoured of Honey's gentle and sympathetic manners, and Mr. Frayne seemed content to let Trixie make most of the decisions.

"I must say," Trixie commented as she replaced the game board and pieces in the case, "you certainly haven't lived up to the expectation of your red hair. I was expecting a temper tantrum, or at the very least, a sullen look or two." She glanced up as she put the round piece in the box and saw what the loss of the last game had failed to produce—higher colour in his cheeks, and a sharpness in his eyes.

"I'll have you know that I'm perfectly even-tempered," he said hotly, only to be interrupted by his sister.

"Oh, come," she said, placing her hand on his arm and smiling up at him. "You've been very well-behaved here, but Trixie certainly isn't too far off the mark in thinking that you have a temper."

Mr. Frayne stared at her for a long moment, obviously reining in his temper. When his features finally relaxed, however, it was to form an expression of such playfulness that Trixie wasn't entirely sure what to think. The fact that it was directed at her, rather than Honey, was even more disconcerting.

"You think that I should be putting on a public display of my temper, do you?" he questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"No…" Trixie said slowly. "I didn't say that."

"But it's what you expected," he continued. In one long-legged stride he was close enough to take the game out of her hands and place it on the table. "Perhaps I should give you what you asked for?" he asked, standing so close to her that she had to tilt her head back to look into his eyes.

She'd been very careful to not notice those eyes for days. Green. Brilliant green. Eye-catching, mind-scrambling green eyes. Eyes that had her dangerously close to assuming the cow-eyed, vacant look so many of her friends had possessed when in the presence of an attractive male.

She'd managed to avoid looking like a fool over a man for more than eighteen years, and she had no intention of starting now.

"I ought to check on the chickens," she blurted. "So that Moms can make the lemon meringue pie tomorrow. Lots of eggs, you know. To make meringue."

Mr. Frayne's lips twitched, and Trixie had the distinct impression that he'd seen through her oh-so-subtle attempt to put some distance between them. It was his own fault, she thought as she snagged her cloak from its hook and threw it over her shoulders. If he weren't so terribly friendly, and handsome, and witty, and handsome, and thoughtful, and handsome, she wouldn't be so distracted that she could barely take her eyes off of him some days.

Besides, why should it be funny that she'd check on the egg supply? It wasn't as if she was going to make the pie; that would be silly. She'd tried once, but the awful thing had sat on the kitchen counter for days, attracting more flies than people. Still. She could check on the chickens. Even if she couldn't make the pie herself, she certainly enjoyed eating it. Checking on the chickens was merely protecting her interests.

And removing her from the temptation of acting like a ridiculous schoolgirl with an even more ridiculous infatuation.

Because a ridiculous infatuation was certainly the only way to describe what she was feeling. Already predisposed to blushing, she suspected Mr. Frayne had yet to see her natural skin tone as she seemed to flush an unbecoming shade of tomato whenever he spoke to her. Worse, she'd caught herself taking extra care with her appearance.

Well, not really. She hadn't actually changed anything about the way she looked. But she'd spent more time staring into the mirror than she normally did, and she was acutely aware of the faults that she would normally gloss over.

Ridiculous. Mr. Frayne might be an eligible young bachelor, but he was hardly eligible for her. No doubt the handsome, wealthy man would marry a young lady of impeccable grooming, fortune, and connections.

Trixie possessed none of those qualities, and she knew it. It had never bothered her—not until she met James Winthrop Frayne II.

In any case, the chance to escape Crabapple Farm and Mr. Frayne's green eyes was not to be discounted.

Frustrated, she plucked her red cloak from its hook beside the back kitchen door and flung it around her shoulders. Just as she reached to shove the door open, she heard, "Miss Belden! Where do you think you're going?"

She stopped, her hand on the door knob, unwilling to turn and face the man she desperately needed to put some space between. "Fresh air," she answered, turning and smiling brightly. "Playing checkers is all well and good on a winter afternoon, but I need to stretch my legs."

"What a coincidence," Mr. Frayne said, sliding his arms into his own coat. "So do I."

Trixie raised an eyebrow. "Has Mrs. Vanderpoel said you could go outside?" she asked, quite certain that she already knew the answer.

Mr. Frayne hesitated. "She hasn't said I couldn't." He paused. "At least, not today." He glanced out the window beside the backdoor, his longing to go outside almost tangible.

Trixie pressed her lips together. "If I get in trouble because of this, you're not going to be happy."

"Don't you mean that you won't be happy?" Mr. Frayne questioned, his eyes still on the view from the window.

"No," she retorted, handing him Brian's old scarf and a pair of Mart's mittens. "I mean that you'll be unhappy. I do know how to make your life miserable. Just ask Mart and Bobby."

Mr. Frayne grimaced, but donned the scarf and mittens. "I'll just have to make sure that it's worth my while, then," he said cheerfully, and held open the door for her.

Her plan of avoiding Mr. Frayne for a while in order to steady her emotions had fallen by the wayside, but as Trixie stepped out and into the crisp, fresh air, the man hot on her heels, she found she couldn't bring herself to care the least little bit.

"I haven't visited your stables yet," he said cheerfully, striding down the snow-covered path at a brisk pace. "Well, not officially, at least. I suspect that it was the stables I was aiming for when I lost my way."

"I still can't believe that you tried to walk from Sleepyside to the Manor. In a snowstorm, no less!" Trixie chided, slipping her hands into the muff that matched her cloak. She'd have preferred mittens or gloves so that her arm movement wasn't restricted, but she'd latched on to the first thing she could find when they'd been leaving the house, and she was stuck with the muff if she didn't want her fingers to freeze.

"It's only two and a half miles!" Mr. Frayne protested.

"In a snowstorm," Trixie repeated, laughing. "In the dark!"

"It wasn’t dark when I left," he mumbled, and Trixie thought that his face was perhaps as red as hers seemed to be whenever she was in his presence. "By the time I realized that the snow wasn't letting up, it was too late to turn back." He frowned even as he looked out over the gently sloping yard. "I ought have known better when the owner of the local livery—a Regan someone or other?—wouldn't let me take a horse. After all, it wouldn't have killed me to spend a night in the inn."

"But you were in a hurry to see your family," Trixie surmised.

"And I'm not exactly known for my patience," he finished sheepishly.

"A lack of patience and a temper?" Trixie clucked her tongue as she scolded him impishly. "Whatever will we do with you, Mr. Frayne?"

"Whatever will you do with me, Miss Belden?" he asked, his face the picture of innocence and causing Trixie's thoughts to become something rather less than innocent. "I'm sure I have no idea what you will do with me, but I have a very strong idea of what I plan to do."

Trixie's eyes widened at his words. Surely Mr. Frayne, who had been nothing but honourable the entire time he'd been under Crabapple Farm's roof, was not suggesting that— The snowball hit her before she realized that he had even raised his arm. For a second she stood, stock-still and gaping, as wet snow trickled down her cheek and landed with a plop on her cloak.

"That's what you want to do with me?" Trixie demanded, eyes sparkling at the challenge. "Oh, you have no idea what you've started!" Quick as a wink, she sprinted off the path and toward one of the many outbuildings on the property. Gathering handfuls of snow as she went, she packed the wet, loose snow into a snowball as quickly as she could. Growing up with three brothers, one of them being an almost twin, had served to instruct her in many areas, and the building of the perfect snowball was one of the lessons she'd learned well. Just as she ducked behind the corner of the shack where the yard tools were kept, Trixie let the snowball fly and heard the satisfying sound of Mr. Frayne grunting as it connected.

"Ha!" she chortled, gathering more snow and beginning the packing process anew. Her elation was cut short, however, when a snowball landed on the wall just above her head and dripped onto her unprotected hair. Judging the direction that the snowball had travelled, she realized that Mr. Frayne had already circled around, and that her cover was now providing very little protection. A second snowball flew through the air, but it fell just short of her and only managed to dislodge the snow around her feet. A third snowball followed in quick succession, clipping her leg and causing her to wince at the icy coldness.

Still, she wasn't ready to concede defeat. Not by a long shot. As Mr. Frayne attempted to take cover behind a crab apple tree, she let loose with her arsenal, chortling with glee when she made contact with almost all of them. When Mr. Frayne began running toward her, snow dripping off of his head and clothes with suspicious wet patches, Trixie eyes grew wide.

Mr. Frayne looked utterly determined.

Abandoning the remains of her stockpiled snowballs, Trixie set off at a sprint for the chicken coop, her pursuer hot on her heels. She hadn't seen Mr. Frayne carrying any snowballs, though, so if she could just get to the chicken coop…

His footsteps grew louder and she could feel that he was closing in on her. The chicken coop wasn't going to provide any cover if there wasn't any distance between them! She glanced at the copse of trees that formed the orchard slightly beyond the chicken coop and wondered if she would be better off veering off at the last minute and taking cover in the sturdy trees. She was only a few feet short of the chicken coop when she felt an arm snake around her and she was lifted off her feet.

"Mr. Frayne!" she exclaimed, struggling to free herself. She twisted and kicked, but his grip remained firm. Even when her heavy boots (a pair of hand-me-downs from Brian that had been too worn for Mart to use) connected with his shin and he was surprised into an ungentlemanly grunt, she remained secure in his grasp.

"What are you going to do?" Trixie laughed, attempting to dislodge his arm from around her upper body. "Carry me back to the house? It's not much of a punishment, you know. Not for me, at least."

"Oh, you'd like that, wouldn't you?" Mr. Frayne teased, stopping to readjust his hold on her. "No, I think not. What I think I'm going to do is allow you to spend some more time in the snow you seem to enjoy so much."

She whipped her head to face him and found that he was watching her, his green eyes bright with exertion and full of mischief. When he saw that he had her attention, he looked pointedly at a snow drift that Trixie judged had to be at least four feet high.

"You wouldn't," she gasped, but she was fairly certain that the fact that she was giggling detracted from the censure she had hoped to convey.

"Oh, wouldn't I?" he replied mildly. "You've neglected to remember, Miss Belden, my atrocious temper."

He strode toward the snow bank, his steps measured and purposeful, and Trixie began to struggle in earnest. It wasn't so much that she minded being dropped in a snow bank—playing with her brothers, she'd certainly experienced far worse. No, it was the principle! She couldn't let him win.

Not when he'd already seemed to win her heart without even trying.

His steps slowed as they neared the snow bank. "Do you concede defeat?" he asked, raising an eyebrow in challenge. "I'm not completely heartless, you know. I am willing to entertain pleas for mercy."

Trixie snorted even as she continued to struggle. "That's not going to happen," she informed him tartly, endeavouring to pry his fingers from her arm and failing.

"You had your chance," he warned, and lifted her so that she would be dropping from a greater height. Only seconds before he was set to release her, however, Trixie played the last trick in her arsenal. Instead of continuing to struggle, just as she felt him poised to toss her, she forced her body to become completely limp. Her suddenly dead weight caused to Mr. Frayne to falter and become off-balance as their weight shifted.

"Hey!" he started to exclaim, but it was too late. The pair toppled forward, both landing in the snow bank.

Through the initial shock of freezing snow, Trixie continued to chortle, becoming more and more amused at Mr. Frayne's shock.

"Why, you— I can't believe— Where did you learn—" he spluttered, evidently too surprised by Trixie's manoeuvre to extricate himself from his position half in the snow, half on top of Trixie.

"Three brothers," she reminded him, speaking with difficulty through her giggles. The snow was cold under her back and Mr. Frayne was only making it worse by pressing her more firmly into the snow bank, but she was having too much fun to insist that he free her. "Now. Do you concede defeat?" she questioned impishly. "I am willing to entertain pleas for mercy." She parroted his earlier words, her eyes sparkling.

"You have snow on your eyelashes," he said suddenly, ignoring her challenge and causing her to blink in surprise.

She hadn't realized just how close he'd been to her as they landed. Now, though, she was acutely aware of the fact that his face was only inches from her own, and that his solid body was flush against her.

"I do?" she returned, feeling dazed and a little stupid. It was all so surreal! She was lying in the snow in the arms of James Winthrop Frayne II. She'd never, ever been in such a situation before, and she couldn't think of why she'd avoided such entanglements in the past. She felt excited, exhilarated, and altogether intoxicated. And from the intense look in Mr. Frayne's eyes, she suspected that she was not the only one experiencing a rush of strong emotion.

"Your cheeks are red," he continued, and the hand that had been lightly resting on her arm was suddenly tracing a line along one side of her face. She shivered at the tender contact and wondered if the tingling she felt was because of his touch or the cold snow.

"So are yours," she said breathlessly, eyes focused on his reddened cheeks. His freckles still stood out, and she was reminded of the liberties she'd taken in studying him when he was in the grips of the fever. She hadn't been able to stop herself then, and she didn't seem capable of it now, either. Mr. Frayne appeared to be experiencing the same phenomenon, as his eyes remained locked on her and he made no attempt to stand.

"We should probably…" Trixie's voice trailed off.

Mr. Frayne nodded, but his eyes had drifted to her lips, and from the way his head had dipped a little closer to her, she was fairly certain that he hadn't actually heard her. Her breath caught and her eyes drifted closed. She could feel his breath on her cheek, and—

"Unhand my sister!"

Trixie's eyes flew open and widened in horror as she saw a dark form looming over them. The next instant, Mr. Frayne was unceremoniously plucked from his position on top of her and hauled roughly to his feet.

"I assure you," Mr. Frayne sputtered, glaring at the newcomer while brushing the snow from his clothes, "that I meant Miss Belden no—"

"Brian?" Trixie gasped, and scrambled to her feet to throw herself into his arms. "You're home! Early! Oh, it's so good to see you!"

Brian's eyes softened for a moment before he disentangled himself and moved to place himself between Trixie and Mr. Frayne. "I couldn't very well stay away, now could I?" he asked. "Not when I have Moms' cooking to come home to." He angled his body away from her, the better to glare at Mr. Frayne. "I did not, however, expect to come home to the sight of my sister being accosted on her own property! What is the meaning of this?" he demanded. "And who are you?"

"I'm James Winthrop Frayne II," he replied stiffly, his face colouring with anger rather than the desire that had been evident only moments earlier. "And as I attempted to explain before, I meant Miss Belden no harm." He paused and visibly attempted to master his temper. "I take it that you are the eldest Belden son?"

Trixie looked at her brother, expecting Mr. Frayne's speech to have eased his mind. Instead, she saw that his face, normally dark, had lost all of its colour.

"Frayne," Brian repeated weakly. "Connected to the Wheelers of New York?"

Mr. Frayne frowned. "Yes," he said, his tone suspicious. "Do we know each other?"

Brian paused, as if gathering his courage. "I'm Dr. Brian Belden," he said, his tone cautious. "I've been studying with Dr. Ferris in New York."

Mr. Frayne snapped his head toward him, shock and anger clearly stamped on his features. "You're him," he bit out, crossing the ground between them in the blink of an eye. "Why, I ought to—"

Before Trixie could quite register what was happening, Brian had rocked backwards to land in a snow bank, and Mr. Frayne was breathing hard and massaging his fist.

"Mr. Frayne!" she gasped. "That's my brother!"

Mr. Frayne glared at Brian's prone form as he groaned and struggled to sit up. "No. He's the man who's ruined my sister."