Lucy McConnell's Snow Valley Box Set

by Lucy McConnell

  She’d done it again – she’d planned out her day, down to the minute. Was there something wonderful she’d missed? Maybe there was someone she was supposed to meet out there on the street. She could be sequestering herself in the office, while other people had an amazing evening. She hadn’t been to the train show since she was a child. What if this was the best train show ever—the one people talked about for years to come—and she missed the memories because she planned her way around traffic?

  Then again, maybe someone had brought donuts in and her dinner waited in a pink bakery box in the break room.

  Going with the shortest route to food, she walked down the hall and pushed open the door to the break room. She wasn’t disappointed to find an open box with half the donuts still available.

  Taking her time, she didn’t have to drive anywhere and the only thing waiting at her desk was more work, Paisley selected a chocolate cake donut. Cake doughnuts had more heft for dinner whereas regular donuts were for lighter meals like breakfast or lunch. There was chocolate frosting on top and chocolate frosting was the best! There were Christmas sprinkles, which reminded her of Clay, even if she shouldn’t be thinking about him. She grabbed a bottle of water and headed back to her cubicle in case Alfred decided to call back.

  As she settled in, Susan paged her. “Paisley, Clay Jett’s here to see you.”

  Paisley panicked. She rubbed her napkin across her lips and opened the top cupboard to check her face in the hidden mirror. Being covered in frosting and sprinkles after a food fight was one thing. Being covered when you ate doughnuts for dinner was quite another.

  “Paisley?” Susan asked.

  “Send him on back,” Paisley said as she swiped on some lip gloss and pressed her lips together. Squinting at her reflection she decided ultra-shiny lips made her look like she was trying to impress him. She blotted her lips on the napkin. She was not trying to impress Clay Jett!

  Without giving Paisley enough time to catch her breath, Clay stood in her doorway with a messenger bag over one shoulder and a white poinsettia in his hands. “Hey.”

  “Hey.” She pointed to the chair on the other side of the desk. “What’s up?”

  “Dad wanted to say thank you for yesterday, so he sent you this.” Clay set the poinsettia in the middle of her desk, the red foil crinkled.

  “Aw, that was nice of him. How’s he doing?”

  “Great. He came home today and wanted to go out and do chores.”

  Paisley laughed. She knew he’d gone home, she’d checked in with Doc Taggart, the old one, not the new one, first thing this morning, but she was relieved to hear he had some spunk.

  “Tell him thank you.”

  “I will.” Clay sat down.

  Paisley moved the flowers to the side, so she could see Clay. He opened his bag and handed her a small box of chocolates.

  “Your dad didn’t have to do all this.”

  “These are from me.”

  “Oh.”

  “I’m trying to butter you up.”

  “Well, you picked the right type of butter. These are my favorite. Wait, what do you want?”

  Clay chuckled. “Don’t stress.” He pulled out a laptop. “Since you’re so good at planning ...”

  Paisley cringed, remembering the heated words they’d both said over the last two days. She was sure Clay thought she was unhinged. Yet, he’d come looking for her and acted as though things were good between them.

  “I wondered if you could help me with my business plan.”

  Paisley tipped her head. “Business plan?”

  Clay leaned forward and put his elbow on her desk, the computer resting in his lap. “I want to open my own recording studio, but to get the equipment, I need a loan.”

  Paisley jumped in. “And, the bank wants to know what you’re going to do with their money?”

  “Right.” He tapped his temple. “I’ve got the whole studio worked out up here. I just can’t seem to get the information to come out. Have you ever done something like this before?”

  “Not exactly, but I’ve created budget reports for the board. Maybe I can draw on that experience. Let’s take a look at what you’ve got.”

  If he’d asked her for anything else, she wasn’t sure she would have helped him. So far, he’d run over the top of her to talk to Tom, ruined an event, and called her “shut off.” Yet, here he was, asking for her help and looking at her like she knew what she was doing. She decided to roll with it. She released her anger over the frosting fight like a kid letting go of a balloon. Clay was right, life was too short.

  “It’s rough,” Clay warned as he opened his laptop and brought up the right file. He swiveled the screen around and Paisley scanned the first page in silence as Clay leaned forward.

  Paisley found it difficult to concentrate with him staring at her, but she managed to read through the first section. “Okay, I see where you’re going. If I were an investor I’d want to know where these numbers came from.” She pointed to one chart and waited.

  Clay started talking and she slid the keyboard closer to type. She continued to ask him questions, and he had all the right answers. His eyes lit up with possibilities as he explained the services, and the chance to discover a new sound or group. He went from sitting, to standing, and back again. When she asked a hard question he talked it through, as much to himself as to her, and she gathered the ideas, editing as she went.

  The more she heard about his studio the more excited she got. From the sound of things, this was a viable business. With the contacts Clay had in the music industry, names she encouraged him to use in the presentation to give his claims credence, he could make a go of this. He needed the loan for the upfront costs. There would be annual upgrades to software and some equipment—manageable expenses in Paisley’s eyes.

  Managing the business would take a heavy hand. There were so many steps before a group could even get in the studio, let alone produce an album. The process fascinated her and Clay knew the business inside-out and upside-down.

  Once she’d quizzed him until he looked ready to drop, she adjusted her position in the seat and got to work on the document.

  “What are you doing?” Clay asked.

  She glanced up. “I’m making the presentation look pretty.” Smiling, she went back to work.

  “Are there any more of those?” He pointed to the half-eaten donut, forgotten, at her elbow. Paisley couldn’t eat when there was work to be done.

  “You’ll have to check the break room.”

  Clay stood and stretched.

  “Wait.”

  Clay paused, his hand resting on her desk.

  “Favorite color?”

  “Why?”

  “I need a theme.”

  “Um, red.”

  “I would have guessed black,” she said before she thought about how rude she sounded considering the way he used to dress.

  “Nope.” His eyes flicked to her red shirt and then back up. “Definitely red.”

  Paisley flushed as she realized he was flirting again.

  He reached up and brushed her cheek. “Pink’s nice too,” he said. Then he pushed off the desk and disappeared into the hallway.

  She gave herself a mental shake. He wasn’t going to be here for long. She wondered if he was like that with everyone. Artistic types could be touchy-feely, couldn’t they? Didn’t they all kiss hello, goodbye, congratulations, thanks for the coffee, and whatnot? Then again, Clay wasn’t what Paisley would consider overly friendly with others, at least not when she was around. She brushed her hand across her forehead. She didn’t know what to think.

  Life outside Snow Valley was uncharted water and she’d never cared enough to so much as dip her toes in the tide. She loved the way people in Snow Valley stepped up to help out. Whether a soccer team needed a coach or they were short on floats for the 4th of July parade; there was always a neighbor happy to pitch in. Towns like Snow Valley were few and far between. Paisley knew she had a good thing here
and she wanted to hold onto it with both hands.

  Clay had jumped into the world with both feet. Whatever he’d found out there had helped heal his wounds and for that Paisley was grateful. Just because her heartbeat skipped and her skin tingled when they touched, didn’t mean he felt the same way. She scrubbed at her cheek to make the tingles stop and dove back into the project.

  The proposal came together nicely. She moved the three year overview behind the first year profit projection and changed the heading font to orange.

  Clay came back with the whole box of donuts.

  “You’re supposed to take what you’ll eat and leave the rest for others.”

  “I did.” He moved around the desk so he could look over her shoulder. “I thought I said red.”

  Paisley shook her head. “When it’s not Christmas, red is an aggressive color. It represents anger. We do not want investors getting angry or fearful while they read your proposal. Orange is creative and driven. I think the color fits.”

  Clay lifted one eyebrow and Paisley was grateful she was already sitting down, otherwise her knees would have given out. Dang.

  “We?” he asked.

  She turned back to the screen. “I’m kind of invested in this.”

  “You think it’s a good idea? I mean, I think it’s good, but I’d love to know what you think.”

  Paisley turned to look up at him. “I think the studio is a viable business with the potential to be as big as you want to take it. This plan, if you do what you say you’ll do, will set you up. You’ll be turning some big numbers within three years. I think the bank will jump on board.”

  He put one hand on the back of her chair and leaned down to see the screen.

  Cinnamon and sugar filled Paisley’s senses. How did he manage to smell like Christmas, home, and adventure? Her fingers paused over the keyboard and she closed her eyes.

  “Paisley?”

  “Hmm?”

  “You okay?”

  “Just thinking.” Just thinking about how good your arm felt around my waist and how sweet you smell and how my fingers would feel in your hair.

  “This looks good,” said Clay.

  Paisley opened her eyes to see his cheek not far from her face as he leaned in to scroll down. He was intent on the information, but all Paisley could see was him. Having him close shorted out her circuits.

  “I can’t believe it’s the same proposal.” He turned to look at her. “Did you do all this while I was in the break room?”

  Paisley giggled and then wanted to die. There was no reason she should giggle over Clay. Yet, being near enough to share body heat, she was light and airy – and apparently airheaded because she still hadn’t answered the question. “I typed while you talked. Your passion for the studio and music transferred onto the page.”

  He looked at her dubiously. Forcing her eyes away from Clay, and effectively removing the need to giggle, she leaned over the computer and began proofreading. “They’re your words. I just formatted,” she said as she skipped over the section regarding the location and property. She didn’t feel right offering advice on something she didn’t know anything about.

  Clay stood up and made his way around the desk. “You have a gift.”

  She laughed and then felt her smile fade away like footprints in a snowstorm. She’d done it again. She’d used her ability to focus on one thing to block out another. In this case, she blocked her feelings for Clay because she didn’t want to face the fact that she was attracted to him on so many levels. It wasn’t just Clay’s rugged good looks or the way his smile melted her into Christmas pudding. He brought out the best in Paisley and helped her see herself as more than an event calendar.

  He didn’t make blocking him out easy. The man smelled like Christmas, for the love of Pete. What would have happened if she’d given into those feelings, let go of her plan to hang on until he left town? She’d stinking kiss him, that’s what she’d do, and she could not allow a kiss to happen.

  Clay brought her back to the conversation with, “Man, if I could do what you do, I’d have a studio already.”

  And you’d be so busy you’d never come home. Paisley bit her lip. “If I had your ability to dream, who knows what I could accomplish.”

  “You have passion,” said Clay.

  Paisley’s shoulders dropped. “Not really. I create moments for other people, I don’t ever get to enjoy them myself because I’m always looking ahead.”

  “Does looking ahead make you happy?”

  “I guess.”

  Clay hooked his finger under her chin and lifted her gaze. “There’s more to you than cookies, Pais.”

  Paisley pulled back and began organizing her desk. “I just don’t see it,” she mumbled.

  “Who made you forget?” Clay’s voice was as soft as a meadow just covered in snow. “It was all there before I left. Something happened.”

  Paisley blinked back the sudden onset of anger. Anger at herself for ever letting a stranger into her heart. “I trusted someone I shouldn’t have. I was fresh out of high school and it was stupid.”

  Clay shook his head. “No, he was stupid.”

  Paisley felt the tug of a smile.

  “Come on – who was he? We’ll go toilet paper his house or something.”

  Smiling, Paisley replied, “He’s not local.”

  “Oh.” Clay nodded as though a puzzle piece fell into place. “In that case, good riddance.”

  “What about you? Any broken hearts in California?” Paisley held her breath.

  Clay leaned back. “Naw, at first, I was too poor to date. When I was making money, I went out with a few girls, but my studio always called. I worked every chance I got. I was lousy boyfriend material.”

  “Well, their loss.” Paisley flushed, but she was glad she’d said it when Clay caught her eye and held her gaze.

  He opened and closed his mouth like he was going to argue the point and then changed his mind. “It’s getting late.” He saved the proposal and closed his laptop. “Can I buy you dinner? It’s the least I can do after keeping you here so long.”

  Dinner with Clay was too risky. “It’s no trouble. I’m glad I could help. Besides, you already brought me chocolates.” She tucked the box into her purse and shut down her computer.

  “This was worth way more than just chocolate.”

  “You don’t understand the depth of my addiction.” They walked out to the receptionist desk and Paisley breathed a sigh of relief when Susan wasn’t at her station.

  “Come on, I feel like celebrating,” urged Clay.

  He put on his heavy coat and helped Paisley into hers before tucking his stocking cap over his hair making his curls do that flip thing over the rim.

  Because her pulse doubled at the sight, Paisley knew she had to put some distance between them. The evening was fun. She truly enjoyed spending time with Clay. He had big dreams and had listened to what she said. However, the way he looked at her sometimes made her want to be more than just old friends and she needed to keep her distance.

  Paisley pulled the hood up on her coat. “I’m going to call it a night, but thanks for the invitation.”

  Clay’s hands disappeared into his coat pockets. “Oh, I should probably check on my dad.”

  “Probably,” Paisley agreed.

  “I owe you one.” He gave her a hopeful smile.

  “Sure.” As they approached, the glass doors slid open and freezing Montana air blasted Paisley in the face. The wind howled and she tucked her arms close to her body. “Good luck with the loan,” she yelled over the wind.

  “Thanks, I’ll let you know how the meeting goes.”

  “I’d like that.” And, she realized, she would.

  Thoughts of Clay and his big dreams occupied her drive home. The studio would be amazing. He’d described the set up and Paisley could picture the space in her head. She missed being involved with the band. They had such energy and when they hit the music just right, they made magic. As she c
hanged into her pajamas at home, she found herself humming an old Iron Stix song and imagining the way Clay looked now with a bass guitar in his hands.

  Chapter 5

  THE NEXT NIGHT, PAISLEY BUNDLED UP and headed over to Sawyer’s house so they could take the kids to the sing-along together. Her dad was flat on his back after another adjustment from the chiropractor and her mom need to stay home to care for him and make sure the chores got done. Paisley was sure things ran just as smoothly under her mother’s watchful care – maybe more so – than they did when her dad was up and about.

  The sing-along was Amber’s favorite Christmas tradition and Paisley couldn’t blame her. Paisley liked to sing, she just didn’t have Amber’s talent. When the first few notes cracked over the speakers, Paisley would hold her breath, waiting for a myriad of voices to burst forth. Christmas carols should be sung out loud and joyfully. The sing-along was the perfect place to gather buckets of Christmas cheer.

  She also loved spending time with her nephew and niece. Peake was so cute last year when he sang, “Frosty the Snowman.” Only, he didn’t say Frosty, he said Rosty. Adorable!

  Paisley parked on the curb and made her way through the chill to the front door of their modest home. Amber answered, wearing Santa pajamas, a matching scarf, and no makeup. “Crap. I meant to call. Journey’s got strep throat. We’re going to have to cancel tonight.”

  Paisley’s excitement deflated like a Rudolf blow-up lawn ornament. She’d wanted to see the kids. “Can I come in?”

  Amber stepped back. “Enter at your own risk. She’s been on antibiotics for a few days as a precaution, so she shouldn’t be contagious. But, we could all be carrier monkeys.”

  Paisley stepped out of the cold and into the front room, where she tripped over Sawyer’s drum set.

  “Sorry, things are kind of crammed in here.” Amber kicked a few heavy wires out of the way.

  Paisley felt like she’d skipped back in time. Amps, music stands, and even the old soundboard, crowded in with the entertainment center and a recliner. Microphones rested on the fireplace mantle where the kids couldn’t get to them. Clay’s bass stand was empty in the corner, but his old amp was there. Bill’s keyboard had scratches and the paint was chipped. The equipment looked shabbier than she remembered, but the underlying thrill was still there.