Lucy McConnell's Snow Valley Box Set

by Lucy McConnell

  “A rock and roll Christmas Ball.” Clay’s eyes danced in a way Paisley found adorably infuriating. “You know, Run, Run Rudolf, Rockin’ Around the Christmas Tree, that sort of thing,” he said.

  Paisley shook her head. This was her pride and joy. She’d spent months agonizing over the details. Paisley prepared to keep her mother-bear instinct in check. After all, she could maintain a professional air; even if Clay’s persistence was annoying. “It’s a ball, not a sock hop.”

  Tom continued to rub his cheek. “A change could renew interest in the event, bring in a younger set.”

  “And, changing the theme could put off some of our regular attendees,” countered Paisley. “The younger set won’t have the financial resources to make up for the larger contributions if we lost them.”

  “Naw,” Clay swatted away her comment faster than a farm wife after a pesky fly at the family picnic. “They grew up with those songs. I’m sure they’d love to hear them performed live.”

  Paisley pressed her nails into her palm. Not only did Clay go over her head when she’d told him no, he undermined her in front of her boss. He may be some big shot music producer, but all his success didn’t amount to a hill of beans as far as she was concerned. He hadn’t been here for almost eight years and as far as she knew, he’d never attended the ball. He had no experience, no pull, and no understanding of how things worked in Snow Valley, and she wasn’t about to take his word on the music genre increasing ticket sales.

  Why couldn’t Clay let this go? He had his shot at fortune and fame, and from the rumors floating around town, he’d done well. She couldn’t understand why he continued to push the Iron Stix when he’d worked with big name musicians.

  Paisley brushed her hair off her forehead. When the ticket holders ran from the room with their hands over their ears, she’d be the one with the reputation for ruining the Christmas Ball. Nothing she accomplished in her life would ever overshadow the disaster.

  Not to mention the fact that she’d have to make up for the lost contributions to the hospital before the fiscal year end.

  She did have one advantage in this debate with Clay, she spoke Tom’s language. “It’s an interesting idea,” she said diplomatically. “However, at this point in time, an overhaul would be time consuming – and expensive. At the very least, we’d forfeit the deposit on the quartet.”

  Tom’s eye twitched and Paisley knew she had him.

  “Maybe next year would be a better idea,” he told Clay.

  “Sure. Next year could work.” Clay grinned like a coyote.

  “Why don’t you two talk it over? I’m going to head home. Wonderful job, as usual, Paisley. The hospital is lucky to have you.”

  “Thanks, Tom.”

  As soon as her boss was out of hearing range, Paisley rounded on Clay. “You can wipe that smile off your face because it isn’t going to happen. Not this year, not next year, not ever.” She stomped over to the supplies and grabbed the green frosting.

  Clay followed, picking up the red this time. “Come on, Paisley, don’t be mad.”

  Paisley slammed a spoonful of frosting into an empty bowl and a half-dozen pairs of seven-year-old eyes looked up at her in shock. She gave them a reassuring smile and kept the look plastered in place while she told Clay, “I’m not mad.”

  Clay refilled the red frosting bowl and asked, “If you’re not mad, then what are you?”

  Paisley moved to the next table with Clay dogging her heels like a puppy. She wanted to elbow him in the stomach so he’d back off. She glanced around. They were being watched by more than just children now and she didn’t want to start any rumors. She stopped in front of the table Clay was supposed to monitor and the kids turned in their direction.

  Paisley kept her voice low. “I’ve been working on the Ball for a year and I’m not about to let some guy who thinks he’s a rock star ruin all my hard work.”

  Clay considered her for a minute. “You need to loosen up.”

  “What?”

  “No, I just figured you out. You forgot how to have fun.”

  Paisley bristled. “I know how to have fun. I just don’t go around ruining other people’s efforts in the process.”

  Clay set his frosting tub on the table.

  “Some of the best fun is spontaneous.”

  “I can be spontaneous,” she replied defensively.

  Clay reached one arm around her.

  Her breath caught as his hand pressed the small of her back and she took a step toward him.

  “Really?” he asked.

  Awareness pulsed just under her skin, catching Paisley off guard. “Really,” she breathed.

  “Prove it.” Clay swiped a spoonful of red frosting across her cheek and Paisley’s jaw dropped at the cold feeling of Crisco and powdered sugar on her skin.

  “Clay,” she said in shock.

  Clay pulled her closer and Paisley felt as though a million bubbles floated through her toes and out her head. She placed her hand on his chest, not sure if she was trying to hold him back or be closer to him. Clay smelled like cinnamon and aftershave and Paisley found the two a dangerous combination. He gently swiped the other cheek. “Play,” he said in a husky voice.

  If Clay’s arm hadn’t been around her, she would have melted into the floor upon hearing his deep timbre.

  In the entire mess of mini holiday crisis she’d faced over the last couple of days, she’d always known what to do. If preparedness was her super power, then being caught up in Clay’s embrace was her kryptonite. She was at a loss for how to handle the situation. The only thoughts flitting inside her head were how close Clay was and how he might kiss her and she might let him.

  A large, vanilla frosting glob landed on Clay’s cheek.

  “Food fight!” yelled one of the Adams twins.

  Paisley’s first instinct was to laugh, and she would have, if the next glob hadn’t landed in her ear. Before she knew what was happening, the whole thirteen-year-old table threw cookies and handfuls of frosting at each other. Paisley scrambled to keep her frosting tub out of their reach. She watched in horror as, instead of protecting his tub, Clay reached in for ammunition.

  Children at the other tables watched in astonishment, some standing in front of their cookies protectively while others burst into tears. The kids from the older grades tested the cookies’ weight in their hands and eyed the frosting bowls. Thankfully, the adults kept the chaos from spreading.

  With the ammunition spent, the kids collapsed into their chairs, giggling and holding their sides. The whole thing happened in less than three minutes, but the damage was complete. Not one cookie survived. Sprinkles rolled across the floor. Clay looked like an abstract Christmas album cover with red, green, and white frosting smears and clumps. He laughed with the twins as they pointed out their best hits.

  In seconds, parents ran in from all angles to scold their children. Paisley went into crisis management mode and assessed the biggest threat. Sara Hamilton was fit to be tied over the state of her daughter’s Christmas dress. Paisley stepped forward. “I’m sure the color will come out in the wash.”

  “I was going to take her for pictures right after this. What am I supposed to do now?” Sara asked as she wiped at the girl’s braids with a napkin.

  Whoa, that’s bad. Paisley had no idea how she could fix this one.

  Clay appeared at her side, wiped his hands down the front of his shirt and whipped out his phone. “Let’s take some right now. She’s adorable and just think of the memories.” He snapped a picture of Berkley’s smiling face and showed the screen to her mom. “See, these will be so sweet and you’ll have a funny story to send out with the pictures.” Sara didn’t look convinced and neither was Paisley. He snapped a few more photos. “I can send these right to the store and you can pick them up in an hour.”

  Sara perked up. “Did you say an hour?”

  Paisley scowled.

  “Yep.”

  Clay turned and snapped a picture of Paisl
ey who was ready to send him to detention. She swiped the frosting off her cheeks and flicked it onto the table. Mrs. Adams approached, holding each twin by one ear. “Tell her,” she demanded.

  “But Mom, I told you, we didn’t start it. He did,” Grayden, or was it Kaydon, said as he pointed at Clay. “He got her first.”

  “I don’t care who started it, you apologize.”

  “Sorry,” they mumbled.

  “What can they do?” Mrs. Adams asked.

  Paisley suppressed a sigh. “Why don’t they roll up the tablecloth and pick up the cookie pieces.”

  Several other parents offered their kids’ help with the cleanup and Paisley had them wipe down the chairs as Clay continued to snap pictures and offer to send orders to the local photo shop.

  “It was my fault, Mrs. Adams. I encouraged them,” said Clay.

  Mrs. Adams’ shoulders relaxed. “My boys are far too eager to jump into trouble.”

  Paisley fumed. She’d warned Clay the twins were a handful and he didn’t listen. Just like he didn’t listen about the Christmas Ball. Now, he was jumping in like he’d spent nights on end making sugar cookies and frosting. He was an event pirate coming in to commandeer her cookie party. Thank heavens he’d missed the Christmas Tree Parade and Craft Show fundraisers.

  When he began posing with the Adams twins, who put on angelic faces for the camera, Paisley stomped off to find a broom and a mop. Someone had to clean up the mess and she doubted that someone would be Mr. Fun-with-Frosting.

  She could not believe she allowed herself to lose focus at an event. Sure, Clay was good looking to the twelfth power, and his arm felt comfortable and right wrapped around her. And, she might have wondered – for a split second – what it would have been like to “play.” She pressed her hand to her forehead. Her infatuation with Clay was no reason to let things slide. She should have been in control.

  Her cheek tingled where he’d swiped frosting. Probably from the sugar and not at all a reaction to his touch! Several large frosting chunks clung to her hair, swinging heavily when she turned her head. Disgusting. She wanted nothing more than a warm shower and a full shampoo bottle. Before she could even consider cleaning up herself, she needed to clean up the school. The principal would have a fit if she saw this mess.

  Paisley fumbled around in the supply closet, shoving buckets aside and trying to find the mop that didn’t give a girl splinters. When Clay appeared behind her, Paisley exercised great self-control and didn’t sweep him right back out the door.

  His white teeth flashed. “They’re on their way over to Sue’s Photo to pick up their orders.” He held out his phone. “You need to see these, they turned out so good.”

  Paisley pushed his hands away. “I don’t care about the pictures.”

  “What? Why not?”

  Storming past she was careful not to bump him – he was even more frosted than she was. “Thanks to you, I get to spend the next hour mopping up sprinkles.”

  Clay grabbed her elbow. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for things to get out of hand.”

  “Yeah, you tried so hard to stop it. Stop trying to be a big shot, will you? I don’t want to get caught in the crossfire.” She gestured to her dark green shirt, now covered in red, green, and white, globs and flecks.

  Clay rocked back. “I’m not trying to be a big shot.”

  “Right, like you don’t love being the hottest topic of conversation in Snow Valley. I thought that’s what musicians wanted—their name on everyone’s lips.”

  “I don’t ... wait, have you been talking about me?” Clay smiled.

  Paisley threw her hands in the air. “Forget it. I’ve got a floor to clean.”

  Clay reached for the splinter mop and Paisley didn’t feel like warning him.

  “Let me help.”

  “Better yet, why don’t you do it all?” She set the bucket at his feet.

  “Okaaaaay.”

  “What?” she snapped.

  Clay held up his hands. “Nothing.”

  Paisley spun, trying for a dramatic exit, slipped on a stray glob of white frosting, and almost fell. She glared over her shoulder, daring Clay to laugh.

  “Hey Paisley,” he called just before she turned the corner.

  “What?”

  “For the record, you look good in frosting.”

  After everything he’d put her through—he even riled up the Adams twins, she’d have to sit on them next year to keep them in line—Clay had the nerve to flirt with her! Paisley wanted to scream. “You’re impossible,” she said.

  “So I’ve been told.”

  As far as Paisley was concerned, the sooner Clay left town the better.

  Chapter 3

  “BREATHE, MRS. BLOOM. DEEP BREATHS,” said Paisley as she held an oxygen mask over the woman’s mouth and nose. Since the hospital was small, the local doctors were on call for emergencies and trained volunteers were an important part of activities like the Polar Bear Plunge. As a hospital employee, Paisley wanted to do her part.

  Mrs. Bloom gave her a thankful look and put her hand over the mask so Paisley could let go. She and Sawyer opted to treat Mrs. Bloom in the warm-up tent in case they needed the ambulance waiting outside for an actual emergency.

  “I thought you weren’t plunging this year?” Sawyer asked as he placed a heavy blanket, tinged with the antiseptic smell that coated medical supplies, over her shoulders.

  “I’ve been training in the bathtub,” Mrs. Bloom said through the mask. “I thought I would be able to stay in this year.”

  Paisley shook her head and Sawyer rolled his eyes. Sawyer had worked the Polar Bear Plunge as an EMT ever since he completed his training, right after high school graduation. Paisley got her certification when she started working at the hospital. Together, she and Sawyer had treated Mrs. Bloom for shock three years running. The poor woman never made it past her knees before she hyperventilated and her system revolted against the frigid temperatures.

  When Clay walked into the warm up tent with his dad, Johnathan, Paisley’s temperature went up three degrees. She couldn’t think about the Cookie Disaster – as she had aptly named Clay’s food fight – without her blood boiling.

  The kids’ parents loved the pictures Clay engineered and took every opportunity to tell her so. Sara even asked if she could put in a photo booth next year because Clay’s idea saved her so much time and “made such a fun memory for their family.” Paisley begrudgingly agreed a photo booth would be a good idea—one more way to bring in money for the hospital. Even with Sara appeased, Paisley fumed that Clay had almost ruined her event.

  Clay pulled his shirt over his head and winked at Paisley.

  Paisley’s breath caught at the sight of his muscular physic and she turned away before he caught her staring. Great, she thought, one more Clay moment I won’t be able to forget soon.

  She hadn’t spoken to him since the broom closet and she wasn’t about to start now. He could just stay on his side of the tent and she’d be more than happy to stay on hers.

  Paisley focused on Mrs. Bloom, but couldn’t stop herself from taking a peek at Clay in a swimsuit. She scowled at his sculpted chest and easy grace. No one should look that fit—it was December for crying out loud. Time for cookies and chocolates and definitely not time for swimsuits and cut abs. Ugh – he was infuriating! Thankfully, his dad hauled him out before he could flirt with her again.

  Once Mrs. Bloom was breathing on her own and settled into a folding chair with a hot chocolate, Paisley and Sawyer went back to the river’s edge. Sawyer carried their supply bag and Paisley held a backboard.

  “This is madness.” Paisley scanned the crowd of Polar Bears running in and out of the frigid river water, watching for signs of trouble. Rarely did a person thrash around before they went under. More often than not, they simply slipped beneath the surface.

  After the first wave of plungers, there was no control over who went in and who came out. No way to count bodies. No way to verify someone
wasn’t sucked downstream. The chaos grated against her skin like 150 grit sandpaper, but she held her irritation at bay, so she could keep a clear head.

  “Who started this tradition anyway?” asked Sawyer.

  Paisley shielded her eyes with her gloved hand. “Our illustrious founder Benjamin Snow. Back then, they used to think plunging was good for the circulatory system. Gram and Gramps plunged, before they had mom.”

  A cry for help sounded. Both she and Sawyer whipped around. Twenty feet downstream a couple of guys hauled someone out of the water.

  Paisley broke into a run, the snow crunching under her boots’ thick tread. Landing on her knees, she situated the plastic backboard on the snow. The men positioned Johnathan Jett on his back, unconscious. His breathing was shallow and rapid and his skin was bright pink. At least he’s breathing.

  “Dad!” Clay dropped to his knees next to Sawyer, his eyes wide and pleading for his dad to wake up. “Dad!” He grabbed his dad’s shoulders, giving them a good shake.

  Sawyer pulled him away. “Did he go under?”

  “What?” Clay stared at Johnathan.

  Paisley took Johnathan’s pulse and checked for external injuries.

  “Did he go under?” Sawyer demanded.

  “No.” Clay blinked. “No. I don’t think so.”

  “Good.” Sawyer dropped his hands from Clay’s arms and hurried to place an oxygen mask over Johnathan’s face. Paisley secured a neck brace and strapped him to the board, her hands steady. If Johnathan didn’t go under the frigid water, he had a much better chance of survival. She counted his clear lungs as a small miracle considering the cases she’d studied.

  “We need to get him to the ambulance,” she said.

  Sawyer nodded. Without instruction, six men in swimsuits and bare feet lifted the backboard and took off at a light jog.

  Paisley fell in step with them, sweat building up under her heavy coat. The other plungers stepped aside, Johnathan’s name whispered among them as they realized the situation was serious.