Page 3 of Puppy Christmas

In fact, now that she thought about it, there were lots of warning signs that could be worn on the outside. Take, for example, a man’s blinding smile across a crowded ballroom floor.

“It’s all too easy for a person to hide their true nature behind clothes,” she added. “Clothes and makeup and shoes and a smile you know better than to trust, if only because no man has teeth that white unless there’s something wrong with him. I don’t care what anyone says or how many times they say it. You shouldn’t be able to see your reflection in someone else’s molars.”

The girl tugged on Lila’s hand, pulling her attention down. She pointed first at her own ears and then at Lila’s lips before blinking expectantly.

“Oh,” Lila said, dismayed. “I went on a bit of a tirade there, didn’t I?”

“Emily might not have had the privilege of catching all that, but I sure did,” a male voice sounded from behind them, causing Lila to jump.Again.“And I, for one, am dying to meet this man. Does he gargle with bleach, do you think, or is it that new charcoal toothpaste everyone is going on about?”

“Daddy!” The girl—Emily—dropped Lila’s hand and ran to the man, wrapping her arms around his knees. Her words were muffled by a sob. “I got lost.”

He lifted the child into his arms and waited until her head was level with his before speaking. “Yes, I noticed that. But I see you found your time-traveling adult self and came to no harm. Strange that you never ended up buying a different dress. I thought for sure you’d outgrow pink sparkles.”

Lila stiffened. He was making fun of her. This man, this stranger clad in a socially acceptable tuxedo, was making fun of her.

“Daddy, she’s aprincess.”

“Is she?” He cast a scrutinizing look Lila’s way. “I didn’t know princesses could time travel.”

“She rescued me.”

“Well, that is what princesses do.”

“I know.” Emily nodded as if that made perfect sense. “That’s why I let her help me.”

“A wise decision,” the man said. And that, it seemed, was the final word on the subject. There were no lectures about wandering off on her own, no words of warning about what could happen to a little girl who trusted any crackpot in pink tulle. He merely shifted his daughter to his hip and continued his appraisal of Lila.

It wasn’t anunappreciativeappraisal, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to do about it. There was something about the man’s glinting blue eyes and slow, spreading grin that shot like an arrow straight through her. Okay, so she wasn’t some six-foot underwear model in a well-cut tuxedo. Her jaw wasn’t a chiseled shadow that had been timed to remain steadfast at five o’clock. She didn’t have the sexy beginnings of gray starting to take over the winged sides of her well-sculpted brown hair…

“I’m sorry—did you say something?” She blinked as the man’s grin deepened.

“Yes. I asked your name, but you weren’t finished yet.” He cast a look down at himself and gave a rueful shake of his head. “Ridiculous, isn’t it? I feel like a penguin. But the invitation said black tie, so black tie it is. Emily’s a stickler for the rules. So, what is it?”

She blinked again. “The dress code?”

“Your name.”

“Oh, um. It’s Lila. Lila Vasquez.” Aware that her usual demeanor—the careful, upright professional she was in all things—was slipping, she stuck out her hand. And then was forced to keep holding it out. She’d somehow forgotten that the man was using both arms to hold his daughter, which meant he had to shift and shuffle before he could return the gesture.

It didn’t help that the hand he eventually extracted was his left one, which bore no signs of a wedding ring. His palm was cool and dry, his handshake firm. He might be holding a kindergartner and masquerading as a penguin, but he did it with a level of confidence Lila could only admire.

“Ford Ford.”

“I’m sorry?”

“You’re Lila Vasquez. This is Emily Ford. I’m Ford Ford.”

“You’re Ford…Ford?”

He bent in a slight bow. “The one and only. Or so I hope. If there’s another poorb-a-s-t-a-r-dwandering around out there named Ford Ford, he has my deepest sympathies. And a heartfelt wish to give his parents a strong talking-to.” His smile warmed as he continued. “I recognize your name. Are you one of the organizers?”

“Not an organizer, no.”

“She’s a princess,” Emily interjected.

“Yes, moppet. We’ve already covered that. She’s a princess and she rescues lost little girls and she doesn’t like men who smile with their teeth.”

“I never said—”