“Me? Oh goodness, no. I can brew a pot of coffee and hand out orders for Cat when she needs me, but I certainly can’t craft a cappuccino or draw those fancy foam designs or anything.” She laughed again and shook her head as though confirming her own self-assessment. “No, no I’m definitely not the best candidate to open that up. I’ve always dreamt of a place like that for Merrylark, one where everyone can gather together, but I’m certainly not the right woman for the job.”
Luke let it go and just smiled quietly to himself, which caused Jolene to do the same. Minutes passed and their pace slowed, both seeming to know the longer they drew out their steps, the longer they’d have together. Ace was the only one who was in any sort of hurry, but he was a dog of routine and it was well past his dinnertime. His growling stomach guided his legs and the pull on the leash tugged Jolene forward, making her arm outstretch more than was comfortable. She wasn’t going to let her dog rush her evening. She gave one swift jerk on the leash and halted Ace’s quick moves.
“I guess we should head back?” Luke spoke it as a question, but Jolene didn’t have an answer for it. She wanted to prolong their evening, but there just wasn’t much left to do in town. She’d accompanied him to select his tree and that was the end of her obligation. Nothing about spending time with Luke felt like an obligation, though. It felt fantastic and comfortable and restful, like she could finally catch her breath and let it slowly back out.
But then the gasp she let out instead wiped all of that away.
“Oh no!” she shouted, planting her feet on the pavement underneath her like she’d screeched her car brakes. “Mildred!”
“Mildred?” Luke’s eyebrows drew together.
“Shoot! What time is it?”
“Seven-fifteen.”
Jolene’s mouth squiggled into a frown, her chin tense and worried. “We have to go. I was supposed to be at Mildred’s at seven. I’ll get you home and then head back out. I’m so sorry. This is terrible of me. I’m usually not so forgetful. Our evening just got away from me.”
Looking at her with soft, thoughtful yet still bewildered eyes, Luke said, “Or you could just take me with you.”
“To Mildred’s?” Jolene’s chin pulled back into her scarf, swallowed in the billowing fabric. “You don’t want to go to Mildred’s, Luke. I promise you won’t have any fun. It’ll be boring and sloggy and dull. Mostly boring.”
“Sloggy?”
“Like the time will just slog along.”
Leaning toward her so his face was just inches away, Luke said, “Well, now I have to go just to find out exactly what you mean when you say slog.”
“I’m pretty sure I didn’t use that in the right context. I’m just trying to dissuade you from being stuck in an evening you can’t get out of.”
Reaching out, Luke squeezed the hand that held securely to Ace’s leash. Jolene startled while he grinned and said, “If I get to spend more time with you, I’ll happily slog along.”
“I JUST CAN’T decide if this is my color.” Luke rolled the small bottle between his thumb and index finger and slanted his eyes like he was studying the polish, really weighing his options.
Jolene glanced up from her work and tried not to laugh. She’d already bumped Mildred’s hand once earlier and had to start over completely. Patience was not one of Mildred’s few virtues, and there was no way the woman would last through another drying. Her red sparkly polish was just barely tacky and only needed a few more minutes before Jolene felt confident Mildred could go about her business without smudging her freshly manicured nails. She’d already promised Mildred a small piece of chocolate if she remained still. She’d have to dole out an entire candy bar if the nail painting required a redo.
“I think silver for you.” Mildred had the voice of someone who’s speech had been damaged with years of smoke and addiction. It was raw and gravely and hinted at a past Jolene could only venture a guess about. Like many of Merrylark’s residents, Mildred came to the lake to escape a life somewhere else. She’d found out—as everyone who moved to town did—that the picture-perfect reputation wasn’t a fabrication. It was the real deal. She never left town after that discovery, and that had been fifty-two years prior.
Jolene’s gut panged with the realization that she’d toyed with the idea of escaping the very place most people seemed to escape to. Where was the sense in that?
“Silver? Yeah? You think so?” Luke rummaged through the plastic tub of half-used polish bottles. “Not magenta or teal? How about this one? Doubly Bubbly Bubble Gum.”
“Silver,” Mildred ordered. “Matches all those flecks in your hair.”
“Luke does not have silver hair, Millie,” Jolene hissed, her tone hushed and under a breath. She’d grown to love her old friend and even her acerbic tongue, but she didn’t want to offend Luke. He’d been nothing but a gentleman tonight and she knew Mildred had the distinct ability to turn their evening from sweet to sour in an instant.
“No, no, Mildred’s right, Jolene. I do have a stray gray hair or two.”
“Or thirty-two,” Mildred croaked. She blew across her nail beds while fanning out her crooked fingers, waggling them back and forth to speed up the process.
“Or apparently thirty-two, which is fitting since that’s how old I am. One for every year.”
Jolene had wondered Luke’s age but felt awkward asking it. She was grateful for the roundabout way of gathering that information, even if it had been in the form of Mildred’s insults. Luke was just three years older than she and that felt appropriate, though she wasn’t sure why she was thinking in terms of what was and wasn’t appropriate between them. Surely that wasn’t appropriate.
“I wouldn’t call it silver. More like flecks of salt and pepper,” Jolene finally offered. She smiled up at Luke from across the sticky kitchen table that had become their makeshift nail salon. When their eyes met, she didn’t pull away like she’d done the night before. She allowed herself to really look at him, and he was even more handsome than she’d noticed at first. His jaw was square, defined and sharp. A dusting of stubble covered it in just the right way that was ruggedly masculine but still looked like it could be soft under her fingertips. He had full lips that remained plump even when pulled into a smile, and his light eyes disappeared each time he grinned, scrunching at the corners to make him seem friendly and approachable. He was nice to look at and easy to admire and Jolene found herself doing a bit of both.
But then Mildred belched—a wet, opened mouthed burp. Ace startled and barked from his cozy place on the floor next to them and Jolene blinked away from her stare that had embarrassingly turned into gawking.
“Salt and pepper?” Mildred snapped, burping again and then hitting her chest with her fist like she had indigestion. “For heaven’s sake, Jolene, his head isn’t a spice drawer. He doesn’t have seasonings; he’s got gray hair!”
Jolene wondered if Mildred had ever been a nice woman or if age slowly took that from her, too, like it had when it robbed her of her strength, her faculties, her memory. Maybe manners were just additional things to lose as the years dwindled down. But Jolene knew many elderly people who were kind and generous, despite life sometimes being harder and harsher on them. Roger was the prime example. That knowledge only made her more determined to show kindness and generosity to those who naturally lacked it, no matter their age, no matter their behavior.
Mildred needed Jolene’s friendship, so she would give it to her. She’d been doing just that for nearly ten years now.
“Are we just about done here?” The old woman moved to touch one of her nails. Jolene stopped her immediately. The last thing she wanted to do was sit and wait while another set of touch-ups dried. With light strokes, Jolene swept the pad of her thumb over Mildred’s index fingernail and was relieved when it came back clean.
“Yep. All done.” She squeezed and then released Mildred’s hand. “Anything else we can do for you before we get going?”
“Cat litter needs changing
—”
“Show me the way.” Luke pushed back from the table and stood. Apparently manual labor was more his thing than pampering. “Just point me in the right direction and I’ll get it taken care of.”
Jolene sprang from her chair and scurried over to Luke, gently taking him by the elbow and out of Mildred’s earshot. “You don’t have to do that, Luke. Seriously. Head out to the car and I’ll meet you and Ace in five minutes. You must be dying of boredom already after our evening at the salon.” She made air quotes around her last words. “Let me do it. I won’t be long.”
“It’s no big deal, Jolene. Honestly. I scoop horse poop daily back at the ranch. Emptying a litter box isn’t going to kill me.”
“She has fourteen cats.”
“Okay, well, I’ll plug my nose.”
Jolene’s hand was still on Luke’s arm and she squeezed it in a ‘thank-you’ sort of way. “I’ll get things cleaned up here and then I can get you back to the lake house. It’s later than I realized. I’m sorry the night has been so much longer than we originally planned.”
“I’m not,” Luke said and then he’d disappeared into the laundry room where Mildred had told him the cat box was located.
While Jolene put the paper towel roll back in its place in the kitchen next to Mildred’s sink which overflowed with crusty dishes, she tried not to let her heart beat at the rate it threatened to beat. It wanted to race right out of her chest. She wouldn’t allow it. Sure, Luke was handsome. He was more polite than other past O’Connell tenants and he paid more attention to her than any man had in a long time. But he had a one-week reservation. That was it. He’d head home. Jolene sincerely doubted he wanted to spend his time—time he was paying for—with a quirky woman in her late twenties and her eclectic bunch of friends, dog included.
She’d make sure not to bother him tomorrow. He deserved his space and she’d encroached on that. Tomorrow Jolene would keep to herself and let Luke enjoy the sabbatical he had planned. While tonight had been fun, memorable even, tomorrow things would go back to normal and that would be okay.
At least she could pretend it would be.
6
Luke
LUKE PRAYED TO the truck gods that it was just the ignition switch. He could afford that. Unfortunately, all signs pointed to the transmission, a much larger bill and longer time in the shop. It wasn’t looking good for Bessie. He’d gotten up early to start the diagnostic process. His breakfast was a stale apple cinnamon cereal bar he’d thrown into his duffel bag and a glass of water from the tap. He liked the way the water tasted. It was crisper, cleaner, and lacked the metallic bite of the water he was used to back home. Of course even the water would be better here. He half-expected to see a magnet on the cottage refrigerator that read, “Everything’s Better in Merrylark.” That was the impression he was quickly forming. Merrylark seemed near perfect, other than Hank’s abruptness and Mildred’s harmless teasing. Every town had a few sour apples.
Luke figured the breakfast bar wouldn’t tide him over long, and after a few hours, he felt the hollow growl scratching at his stomach in confirmation. He wondered what he would do for lunch without a full fridge or any way to get to the store to stock it. His thoughts immediately went to Jolene. She probably had plans already. He couldn’t assume she’d be free or even interested in spending more time with him. Maybe he’d venture a few doors down to see if Roger wanted to grab a bite once things were figured out with the truck. That sounded like a decent enough plan.
Just then, the rumble of a motor pulled his attention from the engine in front of him. He pushed off the vehicle and wiped his greasy hands with a nearby rag. A large green truck with a Christmas tree sticking out of the bed drove up behind his and stopped just a few feet away.
“Hey brother, mind giving me a hand?” A young man, probably in his mid-twenties, hollered as he hopped down from the cab. He slipped two leather gloves onto his hands and tossed Luke another pair, which Luke caught against his chest like a football. “I’m guessing it’s going in the house?”
Luke laughed. “Probably the best place for it.”
“Devon Manning.” The man shoved a hand forward. “Luke Handley, I gather? The proud new owner of this seven-and-a-half foot Douglas Fir, fresh from the Oregon countryside?”
“That would be me.”
“Good, good. Let’s get this thing set up for you. She’s a beaut.”
The two men untied and pulled the tree down from the back of the truck, Luke in the front leading the way as he held the tapered end of the evergreen. Devon hoisted the thick trunk over his right shoulder. Shards of bark stuck to his black and red checkered flannel and a few pine needles caught in the impressive dark beard that fit Devon’s overall look so well. To Luke, he was the epitome of a lumberjack, which reminded him that to Jolene, Luke was the quintessential cowboy. Best not to label someone so quickly, he thought. There was always more than initially met the eye.
Once inside, Luke realized there was really only one spot for the tree and that was the living room. He liked the way the windows would frame it in and wondered if, once decorated, a boater on the other side of lake would be able to see the twinkling lights from the opposite shores. He was excited to have a bit of Christmas in the lake house and the tree was the first step.
“These things suck up loads of water, so be sure to keep her hydrated and she’ll last you well into the new year.”
Luke slipped the gloves off his hands and gave them back. “Well, she’ll only need to last me a week because that’s all I’m here for. If I can get Bessie up and running again, that is.”
“The truck parked in the driveway?”
“That’d be her.”
“Mind if I take a look?” Devon brushed at his shirt, picking off the rogue pine needles from the fabric. Luke watched them spiral to the floor but wasn’t at all bothered by the mess it created. It would give him an excuse to visit Jolene to borrow a vacuum. During his cursory tour of the house yesterday, that was one item he hadn’t located.
“Be my guest. I think I’ve got it narrowed down to the ignition switch or transmission.”
“What about the alternator?”
“You know? You might be onto something with that. Sure hope so, at least. That would be a heck of a lot less expensive than the transmission. I’d already started researching how to properly donate a kidney in order to pay for it.”
Devon laughed at the remark. “There are lots of other things it could be besides the transmission. Let me have a look at her before you start selling off your organs. If you don’t mind.”
“Not at all.” Luke followed Devon out the front door and down the path. The air was cold again, with a wind that wasn’t blustery, but wasn’t breezy either. Somewhere right in between that felt appropriate for the time of year. “I wish I could offer you something to drink while you work, but I haven’t been able to get to the store just yet.”
“What with the dead truck and all?”
“Ouch.” Luke clutched at his chest in jest. “Bessie? Dead? Really?”
“Sorry, brother. I mean, with your girl under the weather.”
Luke appreciated Devon’s humor and slapped a friendly palm to his back. “That I can deal with. I’ve promised her in sickness and in health but I’m not ready for the whole until death do us part thing.”
“How ‘bout this?” Devon pulled his gloves from his back jeans pocket and put them on again. He peered under the open hood and leaned forward to gain a better view. “If I can figure out what’s wrong with your girl, you buy me lunch. If you figure it out, I’ll buy lunch. Deal?”
Luke liked that idea. His stomach liked it even better. “Deal.”
“FUEL PUMP. NEVER would’ve suspected that,” Devon muttered between mouthfuls of a French dip he tore into like he was worried Luke was going to take it from him. He picked up a fry and plunged it into a saucer of ketchup and then raised it to his beard-framed mouth as he said, “Congratulations, brother. Nice work figur
ing that one out. Mechanic status, right there.”
Luke tipped his drink toward Devon. “Thanks. I should’ve thought of it in the beginning. Not sure why I didn’t. I guess I’m more used to trouble-shooting lame horses these days than I am fixing rundown vehicles.”
“That what you do back home? Got some land or something?”
Bringing his glass to his lips, Luke took a swallow. “My family does. I do a little bit of everything there. Guess the formal term would be a ranch hand, but that doesn’t really do a lot to explain it now, does it?”
“Nah, I get it. I’m the small-town equivalent of that. Not quite a handy man. More of a go-to guy. Deliver trees during the Christmas season. Fix planters in the springtime. Repair docks and boat propellers and things like that. I’ve never had the need for a business card or ad in the paper. Somehow everyone just knows to call on me when they need something. That’s the way it’s always been.”
Luke set his glass down and stretched his arms out onto the table. Sal’s Diner was busy in a lunch-time-rush sort of way and it had been a while since their waitress tended to them. He’d wanted to order dessert, but hadn’t been able to flag her down yet.
“You’ve lived in Merrylark your whole life?” Luke asked, wondering if he was prying. Devon didn’t seem to think so.
“Born and raised.”
“That the case for most people here?” Now he was definitely prying, but the information he hoped to gain wasn’t about Devon.
“I’d say fifty-fifty. Lots are second or third generation Merrylarkers, while others visited once and never left.” Devon swiped at his mouth with a napkin and then crumpled it in his hand. “What brings you here? Not often a single guy rents the O’Connell cottage. Not since Mark, really, and that was over five years ago.”
Luke bristled at the name, knowing he’d heard it before.
A Lake House Holiday: A Small-Town Christmas Romance Novel Page 4
