A Lake House Holiday: A Small-Town Christmas Romance Novel

by Megan Squires

“I’m sorry, sis,” Rose retracted. She settled her glass down and took up her sister’s hands. Luke tried to conceal his eavesdropping. He brought his mug to his mouth and hid behind it as he studied their exchange from across the table. “I just can’t believe it’s been five years already. Five years.”

  “I can believe it,” was all Jolene offered. She tugged her hands back and pulled in a deep breath, then pushed off from the table. “I’m going to get the kitchen cleaned up.”

  Rose’s eyes instantly darted to Luke. It felt like an attempt to tell him something, but Luke didn’t know what. All he knew to do was follow after Jolene.

  When he rounded the corner and caught sight of her upper half doubled over the kitchen sink, her shoulders wracked in a silent sob she fought so hard to conceal back at the table, he couldn’t keep his feet planted. He raced over to her. His hands grasped onto her shoulders to rotate her into his chest. It was all one motion and it was all instinct—to draw her into him like he could somehow absorb just a bit of the pain. Drain it from her and take it for himself.

  She didn’t protest. She folded herself within his big body and pressed her tear slicked cheek to his shirt, burying her nose against the soft, flannel fabric. Luke’s chin rested on the crown of her hair and he smoothed her wayward curls with his palm. He didn’t know how to properly console someone. He doubted he was even doing a decent job of it. But there was this innate need to be there for Jolene in this way at this moment. He’d never felt that pull before. Even with Kiara, he’d never been one to offer comfort. But Kiara also wasn’t the type of woman who ever required it. She was tough as nails and even if something had bothered her, pride never allowed her to open up enough to receive comfort in that way.

  Jolene was different. Everything about the way she clung to Luke—the way she let herself fall apart and then be gathered up in his arms—hinted at the extreme vulnerability he’d sensed in her from day one. She was expressive in her joy, but also in her pain, and that did something to Luke. The moisture that seeped into his eyes, requiring strong and deliberate blinks to push back, surprised him. Scared him.

  She scared him, and what his heart felt so suddenly and so intensely toward this woman scared him more than everything else combined. Terrified him.

  “I’m so sorry,” she whispered suddenly against his neck. Her breath was warm, yet it made Luke shiver still. “I’m so sorry to lose it like this in front of you.”

  “Don’t be.” Luke thumbed at the single tear left on her cheek. “You don’t have to apologize, Jolene.”

  She pushed off and swiped her nose with the back of her hand. Her body had slowed in its shaking, her tears drying and her breathing now back on track. She sniffed and shook her head before saying, “Mark was my fiancé, but I’m sure you’ve already pieced that together. He died five years ago today. I thought I would be okay. Time heals all wounds, right? But today was just harder than I expected. It’s okay, though. I’ll be fine.”

  “Time doesn’t heal the wounds. Sometimes it just turns them into scars.”

  Jolene’s mouth half-smiled. “Yeah, maybe. But scars make us stronger, right?”

  Luke wasn’t sure about that, so he didn’t answer.

  “Anyway, I need to get the kitchen cleaned up and you’ve probably got a truck to tend to—”

  He touched her wrist. “Nothing I’ve got going on is more important than making sure you’re okay.”

  A look of shock swept over Jolene’s face. It took a second to dissolve and when she recovered, it was replaced with an appreciative smile, the one she always seemed to have reserved for him. “You’re one of the good ones, Luke.” She put her hand on his forearm.

  “I’m not so sure about that.”

  “I am sure of it,” she answered with enough confidence that it made Luke almost believe it for himself. “Absolutely sure.”

  11

  Jolene

  “IT LOOKS LIKE a porcupine.”

  “I don’t think it looks like a porcupine at all.” Jolene squinted. “Maybe a pinecone. Or possibly a piece of fried chicken. Like a leg or a thigh.”

  “But not a snowflake? You don’t think it could pass for a snowflake?” Luke cocked his head and stared into the crafted foam design in the drink he held. He slipped a sleeve onto the cup and scrunched up his nose.

  “Sure. It could pass for a snowflake. Absolutely.”

  “You’re a terrible liar, Jo.”

  Hearing Luke call her by a nickname made Jolene’s heart do a double take.

  “This is so much harder than it looks on T.V.” Luke leaned his upper body through the open pickup window. “Vanilla latte for Carol!”

  “You watch a lot of latte foam design shows?”

  “Cake decorating is my show of choice, if you must know.” He passed off the drink to the customer on the other side of the window and pulled himself back into the truck. “But either way, it’s food art, which apparently I’m terrible at it.”

  “Not terrible.” Jolene shrugged. “Just not very good.”

  Luke’s fingers jutted out to jab Jolene in the stomach. She tried to recoil, but fumbled, her backside bumping into the counter behind her. Plastic lids cascaded like a waterfall onto the floor of the food truck.

  “Those are fighting words.” Luke playfully reached out for her again. At that same moment, Cat not-so-playfully cracked his backside with the whip of the towel she’d had tucked into her apron.

  “Get back to work, lovebirds.”

  Like they’d been caught by their parents, the two stood stick-straight, soldiers called to attention.

  “Oh, come on.” Cat rolled her eyes. “Are we really pretending we’re oblivious to the obvious flirtatious tension in this truck? I’m surprised you can even make your way around, it’s so darn thick. I bump straight into it any time I try to move around in here.”

  Luke spun toward the order window in an about-face. “Next! Hey there, step right up. What can I get you?”

  “We’re not flirting,” Jolene murmured into Cat’s ear. She kept her gaze trained on Luke, hoping he couldn’t hear the exchange taking place just a few feet away. The way he quickly jumped to help the next customer led her to believe he didn’t want to acknowledge the truth in Cat’s words, either.

  “If it makes you feel better to lie to yourself, then by all means, do so. But I’m not one for lying, nor am I one for letting two full grown adults who so obviously like one another behave like shy school children. This is the twenty-first century, Jo. Ask him out already.”

  “I’m not asking him out!” Jolene whisper-screamed. She was certain the tenth customer in line could heard her declaration. “I am not asking him out,” she repeated, much softer the second time. “He’s only in town for a few days anyway. It wouldn’t make any sense.”

  “A few days is more than enough time to fall in love. Vick and I were engaged after forty-eight hours and our love story is one for the books.”

  Jolene fiddled with a sleeve of cardboard cups. “Looks like you might need to order more smalls.”

  “Okay, okay. I can see you’re trying to change the subject so I’ll drop it. For now. But you’ve only got a few days left, Jo. Make your move before you lose your chance altogether. Luke’s not the type of man you want to let get away. I’m sure he has a line of women longer than the one outside the coffee truck lined up and ready to date him. You snooze, you lose.”

  “You only have a few cups left. Your customers are going to be so upset if they can’t order your signature small spiced latte.”

  “Alright, alright. I get the hint, but get back to work, or I might just dock your nonexistent pay.”

  “I HAD NO idea latte art was so taxing. I’m exhausted.” Luke rolled his shoulders and rubbed at his neck.

  “This from the man who essentially runs an entire ranch back home.”

  “That’s a kind of tired where I can feel every muscle and bone in my body. Creative work is different, and I gotta admit, I don’t think I have
a creative bone in my body to speak of.”

  “Which would make it pretty difficult for it to be tired then,” Jolene said, playing off of his statement.

  “I get it,” he said, his eyes twinkling in a smile. He bumped her shoulder with his. “Good one.”

  The smell of Christmas swirled around them as they walked, the spicy aroma of the season packaged in cinnamon and pine and eggnog and cloves. There were children bundled in their puffiest jackets, which made them waddle down the sidewalk like little ducklings. Though she’d never been a mother, Jolene felt that maternal warmth in her heart just looking at them.

  At the end of the roped off street, Gary and Martha Crawley were dressed as Santa and Mrs. Claus and they seated themselves on a big red velvet covered bench, as they did every year. They collected wishes and Christmas letters and made promises only Jolly Old Saint Nick himself could keep. Though it was the same scene every winter, each year it felt new to Jolene. That was the meaning of hope: the promise of new beginnings and fresh starts even amidst tradition and routines.

  Some people equated the season of winter with a time of stagnation where the landscape shriveled and nature remained in a period of waiting until spring arrived with new buds and blossoms. But to Jolene, winter couldn’t mean that. She’d lost everything one winter five years ago and she had to cling to the notion that this season truly did give more than it took away.

  All she had to do was think back to a baby born in a manger one winter’s night to turn it all into a hopeful perspective.

  At her side, Luke breathed into his hands and rubbed his palms together. Jolene liked the jacket he wore tonight which was a thick, tan canvas fabric. The elbows were patched with swatches of leather and there was a rugged texture that gave it that old-time cowboy look, like the kind she’d seen in sepia-toned western movies as a young girl. She bet that jacket kept him warm on bitter nights while he rounded up his mustangs and, for an instant, Jolene wished she could join him on such an excursion, just to see what life was like from Luke’s perspective. But she’d never even sat on the back of a horse before, her fear of the animal too great. She wondered if she’d be able to muster the guts to tell him that. Would he laugh? Would he realize just how different their lives were and head back home even sooner? That wasn’t something she was willing to risk.

  “What time’s the tree lighting?” Luke spoke, snapping her from her reverie.

  “Six-thirty,” she replied as she glanced at her watch. “Just about ten minutes from now.”

  “Then it looks like we’ve got some time to spare.” Without warning, Luke’s fingers wrapped around Jolene’s elbow and guided her through the throng of gatherers at the base of the majestic, enormous evergreen tree. “I’ve got a little something I’d like to do first.”

  Before Jolene could protest, she found herself next in line to sit on Santa’s lap.

  “Mind if I go first?” She couldn’t understand what business a grown man would have asking a pretend Santa Claus for an answered wish, but there was an endearing, hopeful note in his voice and a sparkle of anticipation in his eye that she couldn’t ignore.

  “Please do. Be my guest.”

  Luke had a bounce in his step as he walked up to the bench. Martha and Gary slid apart to allow Luke to wedge himself between them, Martha gathering her billowing crimson skirt as she scooted over to offer more room. Jolene knew she was eavesdropping, but she couldn’t pull her gaze from the man in front of her. She admired the way he interacted with strangers as though they were long time friends. He had such a polite and respectful air about him and it couldn’t go unnoticed. The way he’d behaved this morning when she fell apart in her kitchen solidified it all for her; Luke Handley was a gentleman, a sort of rare breed she’d thought had all but gone extinct.

  Even while Luke whispered his wish close to Santa Gary’s ear, he kept his eyes solidly fixed on Jolene. There was a moment exchanged between them that even the sudden flash of light from the tree illuminating with thousands of twinkling bulbs couldn’t pull Jolene’s attention from. While hoops and hollers chorused around her, all she could hear was her heart pounding in her ears, the echo of it beating like a hundred horses stampeding down a desert valley. Just looking into Luke’s eyes did that to her.

  As soon as Luke’s Christmas wish had been made, Gary’s left eye scrunched into a wink obviously intended for Jolene. She didn’t have a clue what Luke’s request could be, but there was no denying it had to do with her. Her stomach felt tight, her mouth dry like it was stuffed with a dozen cotton balls.

  Luke clamped a palm onto Gary’s shoulder and gave it a cordial squeeze and then he turned to do a sort of half-bow as a “thank you” to Martha. Her cheeks were already rosy from a heavily coated rouge, but they deepened even more in intensity. Then he walked toward Jolene, beaming.

  “What did you wish for?” she asked.

  “That’s not how it works.”

  “Sure it is. You make a wish and then you tell the first person you see, just to make sure it sticks.”

  “That so?” Luke’s head cocked as he looked down at Jolene. His blue eyes held hers for longer than necessary. “Some sort of Merrylark magic?”

  “Absolutely. This place is full of it.”

  Luke grinned. “I don’t doubt it is.” He paused for a moment, then said with regret in his voice, “Looks like we missed the lighting.”

  “It’s pretty hard to miss when it’s about a thousand kilowatts bright. Pretty sure I’m getting a sunburn from it right now, actually.”

  “A thousand kilowatts, you really think so?”

  “I honestly couldn’t even tell you what a kilowatt is. I just thought I might be able to impress you with some fancy language.”

  “First of all, not sure kilowatt is considered fancy. Pretty sure it’s in the same category as slog.”

  Jolene slapped her hand to her face and peeked out behind her gloved fingers, feigning humiliation.

  “Secondly, I think a thousand kilowatts is actually a megawatt.”

  “Well, aren’t you the fancy one now?”

  “No one’s ever accused me of that before,” Luke joked. “And you don’t have to try to impress me, Jolene. Already checked that off of the list the very first moment we met.” He reached up and pulled her hands from her eyes, gave one of them a light squeeze, and then swiftly let go. “Wait a second…is that a horse drawn carriage?” Luke stood up on his toes to see over the top of the crowd, his attention instantly averted. “You have horses in this little town and you didn’t bother telling me?”

  Up to that point, Jolene had forgotten all about the Christmas carriages and their snowy ride around the square. It hadn’t been part of her yearly tree-lighting tradition, so she’d let it slip from her memory. It was funny how the mind did that—clung to the familiar and important things and shed the rest, wheat from the chaff. Even though the carriages weren’t on Jolene’s radar, it didn’t mean they weren’t wildly popular among the rest of Merrylark’s population. A decent line strung out behind Thomas O’Reilly and his regal pair of Clydesdales. The carriage business had been passed down in his family and just last year his father, Milton O’Reilly, was forced into early retirement, Alzheimer’s stealing not only his memory, but his ability to drive the team of horses. That left the Christmas tradition to his eldest son. Thomas was better suited for work behind a desk than at the reins, but he was determined to make his father proud and carry on his Christmas legacy.

  “We have to go for a carriage ride, Jolene. It wouldn’t be Christmas without one.”

  She wanted to tell Luke she’d had many Christmases that didn’t involve horses, but it was a moot point. Just as he had done earlier, he pulled her toward his destination, leading the way with a confidence Jolene found undeniably attractive.

  “Is that Mildred and Roger?” Luke nudged his head forward. “Think they’d like to join us? I’d love to hear more about those fourteen cats of hers. Are they all rescues?”

  Roge
r and Millie stood next in line. Millie was a fashion faux pas in tangible form. Atop her head of crisp white curls was a green knit hat, adorned with three larger than life poinsettias that made the hat off-kilter with the unbalanced weight. Her mouth was a matted ruby red, the deep crevices of her skin creating lines that bled lip color out from her upper lip, all feathery and smudged. She wore two wool coats, both of equal weight, and her spindly legs fashioned the loudest printed leggings Jolene had ever seen.

  She looked utterly fantastic.

  “JoJo, my dear.” Roger’s weak, yet still sweet, voice always made her heart swell. “Luke. You two youngins plan on taking a little midnight sleigh ride?”

  Jolene flipped her wrist around to look at the face of her watch. “Midnight? It’s barely 6:45, Roger.”

  “Roger’s only up at midnight when his bladder wakes him to relieve it.” Mildred was her usual crass self tonight, as could be predicted. “We all know I’m keeping him out way past his bedtime.”

  “And I’m loving every minute of it, you night owl, you.” Roger jostled Mildred with a shoulder bump and though she almost missed it, Jolene thought she glimpsed the ever so slight upturn of Mildred’s mouth. “Would it embarrass you all too much to take a ride with a couple of old timers like ourselves? We’d love the company if you’d be willing to grant it.”

  “That’s exactly what we were hoping to do,” Luke replied without waiting for Jolene’s response.

  Wishing she’d spontaneously developed the gift of telepathy, Jolene shot Luke a wary look. Now wouldn’t be the best time to confess her deep-rooted fear of all things equine—not when he appeared so pleased to have her at his side and when Roger was already waiting and holding out a hand to guide her toward the carriage seat.

  No, now wasn’t the time.

  The time would’ve been back when Luke had first announced he was a full-fledged cowboy. The problem was, he hadn’t really announced it. It was one of those facts that just wedged itself slyly into their conversation, two days deep when she’d already found herself wanting to impress him for reasons unbeknownst to her. Now she was in the weird territory of attempting to appear impressive, to the point of using scientific measurements she didn’t even know the meaning of. Now would be the time to confess to an allergy or a common phobia like arachno or claustro. Equinophobia likely wasn’t even a real thing, and not one she cared to fess up about.