by Judy Baer
“Not at all. The food is wonderful.” He eyed her speculatively. “You could open a restaurant.”
“I do occasional meals here,” Merry said. “I’m happy to help people with their entertaining.” She smiled slightly. “Besides, it pays the bills.”
“Is there anything you don’t do?”
“I’ll try anything once. Sometimes it works out better than other times.” She hesitated a moment before adding, “Like Christmas. I’m very good at Christmas.”
He looked like he was about to say something but then must have changed his mind.
What had she hoped for? A retraction of his disparaging words? With a sigh, she poured juice into his glass and dished up her own food.
“Will you want dinner this evening or do you have plans?” she ventured after some moments of awkward silence.
Frost glanced up, startled. “I won’t be back tonight. I plan to get a hotel room in Blue Earth.”
“Good luck. The tournament isn’t over for a couple more days.”
“You’re kidding, right?”
“Is it so awful, with the Christmas ornaments and all, that you don’t want to spend another night?” she chided gently.
He flushed a little, an attractive warmth coloring his tanned features. It made him seem more human, Merry realized. Until now she’d been disconcerted by his gravity.
“Not at all . . . I don’t . . . want to be a nuisance. . . .”
“Have another muffin. They have pecans in them. And don’t think for a moment you are a bother. This is part of what I do for a living.” Then she blushed herself. “No pressure or anything.”
He stared at her, his dark eyes shadowed, unreadable. Then understanding flickered in his gaze. “Of course. Plan on me for tonight. I’ll eat in town, however.”
Merry felt like kicking herself. She’d meant to sound welcoming, not desperate, but Frost had practically read her mind and deduced the current size of her bank account.
He might be her adversary, she reminded herself. If Frost meant what he said when he arrived, he’d willingly shut her—and Christmas—down entirely.
But Merry didn’t have it in her to remain negative very long. By the time Jack Frost had left the house, her mood had brightened again. She hummed as she shoveled the snowy frosting off the sidewalk and driveway and sang along with the radio all the way to work.
“Good morning, I think,” Lori Olson greeted her as she walked into the elementary school where they taught together.
“You think? What’s going on?”
“I just came from the lunchroom. That new little girl you have in class is down there eating breakfast like it’s the first time she’s ever tasted food.”
Merry’s heart sank. Greta Olson was a recent transfer. Merry didn’t have the whole story, but it sounded as if the child’s family was living week to week between homeless shelters provided by a group of churches. The little girl usually wore the same clothing for two and three days at a time, and her tennis shoes were little protection against the winter weather.
“The child is obviously not being fed properly,” Lori said. Disapproval sharpened her tone.
“She has a good appetite, that’s all,” Merry said noncommittally. “She told me she had a grandmother somewhere in the area. Her parents are looking for her.”
“Then where is she?” Lori was obviously upset. “And the child is grubby. I don’t know what we’re going to do about . . .”
“Greta is bathed every day. It’s her old clothing that’s the problem.” Merry held up the bag she was carrying. “Here are new ones. My neighbor has a child Greta’s age. I asked her if she had anything her daughter had outgrown. My idea was to keep them here at school and when I could do it discreetly, offer Greta a change of clothing.”
Before Lori could say more, Merry added, “The principal is comfortable with this.”
The first of the children began to arrive, so Lori and Merry parted. Merry was disturbed. Granted, Greta’s clothes were old and worn, but otherwise she was obviously a happy child. And no matter what Lori thought, the child wasn’t underfed.
“Miss Blake, look what I brought for show and tell!” A little boy with red hair and a smattering of freckles across his nose pulled a black-mottled, long, leaf-shaped thing from his pocket. “It’s my ’speriment.”
“Experiment, Danny.”
“Yeah, ’speriment.” He held the unidentifiable thing up to her face. It smelled faintly moldy. “It’s a banana peel. I ’sperimented to see how it would look when it was dry.”
Danny was one of her brightest students. Nothing much he did surprised her, but Merry was always impressed with the child’s initiative.
Danny’s eyes began to sparkle impishly. “And my sister’s scared of it. I put it in her bed last night and she really screamed.”
“That wasn’t very nice, was it, Danny?”
“No, but it was funny!”
Merry was relieved to see the other children begin to arrive. She thought it was funny too, but she didn’t dare let Danny know that.
Merry had forgotten about her conversation with Lori until she saw Greta enter the room. She was dressed in pink corduroy pants that were rolled up at the ankles and had worn patches where the knees had been scraped up by their previous owner. Those thin parts now landed on Greta’s shins. Her sweatshirt had once belonged to an older boy or else she was a big fan of the trucks displayed across the front. Her pale, flyaway blonde hair circled her head like a halo. That was appropriate, Merry mused, because the child had the face of an angel. Her blue eyes were always wide with wonder, and her smile was quick and ready, despite her circumstances. Greta was as appealing a child as Merry had ever met, and as a kindergarten teacher, she’d met many.
“Do we get to paint today?” Greta asked as she neared. “I love to paint.” She clasped her hands together as if to suppress her overwhelming excitement.
“You love to do everything in school, don’t you, Greta?”
The child’s smile lit her face. “Because it’s fun! I like it here better than . . .” Her voice drifted off. Greta frowned, but like light peeking through dark clouds, she smiled again. “I just like it here, that’s all.”
Though Merry had planned another project for art, that could wait. Today they would paint.
* * * * *
Abby had opened the doors by the time Merry arrived at the store that afternoon. Two groups of women from the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul were already shopping.
“Thanks for opening. I’ll try not to be late from now on,” Merry said breathlessly as she stowed her coat in the front closet. Abby had lit several candles, and the room was filled with the scent of vanilla and cherries.
Abby eyed her appraisingly, as if she could sense something was amiss, but she held her tongue.
Merry didn’t express her concerns about Greta. Instead she pushed those thoughts to the back of her mind for the time being.
“Rebecca from the church stopped by. They’ve got most of the volunteers for the living Nativity, but they’re having a hard time finding a Joseph. The men in town are serving the lutefisk dinner at the church that night. They wondered if you might have any ideas.”
“I’ll come up with someone,” Merry said absently as she looked in the till.
“That’s what I told them.”
Merry didn’t respond as one of the shoppers came toward the checkout counter laden with a tangle of garlands.
“Do you have crystal icicles? These would look lovely with icicles dripping from them.”
“I have just the thing,” Merry assured her and headed to the other side of the room. “Come with me.”
And so it went until closing time. As she was about to lock the door, Mr. Frost appeared on the front step.
Merry waved him in. “Hurry inside. I don’t want anyone else to think we’re still open.” She locked the door, pulled the shade on the door’s window, and flipped the Open sign to Closed.
; “Busy day?” He eyed her as if assessing her tousled hair.
She pulled a strand of shiny red garland from around her neck and dropped it onto the counter.
“At four we had a van load of ladies for a Christmas tea. I haven’t sat down since noon, and all I’ve had to eat is gingerbread cookies. If you’d like a snack, come into the kitchen while I make myself something to eat. Did you have dinner?” She’d decided on her drive home from school that she wasn’t going to be intimidated by this man, no matter what he said about Christmas or how much of Frost he owned. From now on, he was simply a guest, not one who might disrupt everything in this little town she loved.
He shook his head slowly. “I’d planned to, but time got away from me. I was halfway to Frost before I even remembered I hadn’t stopped to eat.” He ran his fingers through the tumble of his dark hair. He looked as though he’d been doing that a lot. “This has been a frustrating day. Most of the stuff I’m looking for isn’t on a computer, so I’m up to my ears in dusty old papers.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “And for every step forward, I seem to be taking two steps back.”
Merry felt him trailing behind her as she entered the kitchen. She pointed to a kitchen chair. “Coffee, tea, hot chocolate, eggnog . . .?”
“Coffee, strong.”
Something in his voice made her study him. He wasn’t as pressed and polished as he’d been this morning. His demeanor was weary. “I’m sorry if you had a bad day.”
“I’ve had better. Also worse. Mostly it was just long. It appears that the deeds on the land my grandfather left have some errors made in recording that need to be corrected.”
“Can’t that be taken care of?”
“With time. I’d hoped to leave here in a couple days, but that’s not possible, I’m afraid. I might as well stick with this now that I’m here.”
She put a mug in front of him and a plate of her favorites—white cake bites covered with frosting and crushed peanuts. Then she dropped into the chair across from him. “Does this mean that you’ll be staying here awhile longer, or do you plan to find a hotel in Blue Earth?”
He hesitated before answering, she noted.
“I suppose I should get out of your hair during your busy season.” He bit into the cake and chewed thoughtfully. “But the food’s good here.”
She was surprised at the answer, thinking he’d be gone in a heartbeat. “No problem.” Merry dipped her head when she added, “I wouldn’t mind the business.” Even from you, a Christmas Grinch.
He nodded, deal made. When he was done with his coffee, he rose from his chair and headed for the stairs. “I think I’ll shower before dinner.”
She nodded absently and watched him walk toward the stairs. His shoulders were broad. He’d probably spent time lifting weights. His hips were narrow and his legs long.
Merry usually preferred men in blue jeans—casual, laid-back types who smiled easily and drove pickup trucks—a result of living in a farming community, most likely. Still, much to her chagrin, Jack Frost defied all her preferences and still didn’t come up wanting.
The thought didn’t linger long, though, as her mind turned to dinner and to little Greta and her uncertain future. That was where her prayers needed to focus tonight.
Chapter Four
• • • • • • • • • • • •
At 6:00 AM, Merry heard a clattering sound downstairs in the kitchen. No doubt it was Peppy wanting out, or the cat was on the forbidden countertops looking for breakfast. She rolled out of bed, gathered a fleecy pink robe around her, and padded downstairs.
It wasn’t Peppy after all, but Jack. Coffee was brewing, Peppy was scarfing down his dog food, and Jack was pouring dry food into Eggnog’s dish. The cat was purring loudly and weaving himself around Jack’s ankles. It was a very domestic scene.
A glint of surprise shimmered through Merry. Nog was never friendly to strangers, particularly men. Jack was the first male she’d ever seen him cozy up to. In fact, Nog had been known to hiss and plant his claws in the pant leg of more than one erstwhile boyfriend, much to Merry’s embarrassment.
In hindsight, however, the cat had been right every time. Nog could spot a loser long before it became apparent to Merry. Maybe the cat was losing his touch, she decided. Nog didn’t know the man’s attitude toward Christmas!
“I didn’t think you’d be up so soon,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t have the coffee ready. We’re having omelets for breakfast, so I’ll whip one up right now.”
“No hurry. I’ve got an appointment in Blue Earth at ten, but there’s plenty of time.” He sounded more relaxed than he had last evening, apparently having reconciled himself to being trapped in a small town for a few more days.
Merry hurriedly began to break eggs into a bowl. Thankfully she’d chopped the ham and vegetables last night.
It was disconcerting, however, when Jack took her favorite mug from the back of the sink, filled it with the freshly brewed coffee, and set it on the counter near where she was working. He was serving her coffee? This was all supposed to happen the other way around.
His hair was still damp from the shower, and he was wearing navy trousers and a soft blue shirt rolled up at the sleeves. He looked perfectly at ease in her kitchen, pouring orange juice into glasses and setting the table.
Then Merry caught a glimpse of herself in the glass front of the microwave oven. Her hair was riotous, her eyes still puffy from sleep, and there was a deep crease in her cheek from where she’d lain on her pillow.
“Oh,” she squeaked, “oh, oh.” She glanced at the cooking eggs. Should she sprint for the bedroom to repair the damage and let the eggs overcook, or make the omelets and be humiliated by the way she looked?
The eggs, she decided. Jack Frost had already seen her looking like a frumpy dowager. Besides, what did it matter?
When the toast was up and buttered, the eggs cooked to perfection, and the grapefruit broiled golden with brown sugar and a maraschino cherry on top, she served the meal.
“I’m going to run upstairs and put on something other than this,” she said, indicating her floor-length robe. “Go ahead and eat. I’ll be right back.”
“It’s fine with me. Kind of cozy. I think my mother had a robe like that.”
“Thanks, I think, but I think I’ll change anyway.” She hurried to the stairs wondering what kind of hausfrau he thought she was.
Minutes later, clad in comfortable corduroys and one of her more delightfully garish Christmas sweaters, Merry returned to the kitchen. With her hair fixed and her makeup in place, she felt slightly better.
Frost looked up and blinked at her. “That’s quite a sweater,” he ventured.
“A work of art, don’t you think? Imagine how long it took to sew on all these little reindeer.” She pointed to Rudolph with his nose so bright. “Do you notice the harnesses are real fake leather?” She fingered the tiny white pom-pom on Santa’s hat.
“Real fake leather? Isn’t that an oxymoron?”
“Beats me. Want to see the special part?” She pushed on Rudolph’s withers, and the reindeer’s nose began to glow red. “It works like one of those talking teddy bears—squeeze its paw and it begins to talk. Cute, huh?”
When she heard a strangled sound, she narrowed her eyes and stared at him. He was trying hard not to laugh. “What’s wrong?”
“That is the most awful, ugly—hideous—sweater I have ever seen!”
She tried and failed to keep the hurt look off her face. “Hideous? This is one of my favorites!”
“One of your favorites? You mean there are more?”
“Dozens of them. My friends search rummage and after-Christmas sales for these. They are my uniform both November and December. What’s so bad about that?”
“What’s so bad is . . .” Then he put his hand to his forehead as if he had a brewing headache. “Maybe we shouldn’t get into this right now.” He glanced at his watch. “I’d better get going
. I have lots to do today.” He pushed away from the table, his food half eaten. “Thanks for breakfast.”
She watched him go. Hadn’t he said only moments before that he had plenty of time? What on earth about her sweater had offended him so? The man really didn’t like Christmas. Merry glanced around the room. There were Christmas potholders and towels, plates, napkins, and mugs everywhere. There were candles on each windowsill and poinsettias and gingerbread houses on every flat surface. Merry’s Christmas Boutique was what she did for a living. How could he expect it to look any different? How could he expect her to look any different?
Jack Frost had come to town with a grudge against Christmas, bent on somehow banishing it from what she realized she’d begun to refer to in her mind as his town. She recalled what she’d read about Jack Frost killing those who aggravated him by covering them with snow. In fact, she felt the flakes piling up right now.
But she wouldn’t allow it to bother her. He didn’t own her or this house. Let him try to throw a monkey wrench into Frost’s Christmas celebration. He’d find a lot of push-back he wasn’t expecting—especially from her.
* * * * *
The principal called Merry into the office even before she got to the kindergarten room. Mr. Peterson looked harried, not a good sign so early in the morning. He waved Merry toward a chair. “Lori Olson spoke to me earlier. I need to ask you some questions about Greta. Have you noticed anything in her behavior that might indicate she’s been neglected or . . . anything?”
“Other than the fact that she’s short of clothing? No. She’s a very sweet and happy little girl. I think her parents are just down on their luck.”
The principal nodded. “I agree. She’s living with her mother and her mother’s husband. They’ve been in a string of shelters. Her mother was very open about it when she registered Greta for school.”
“Where’s her father?”
“Gone. An accident in the military, somewhere overseas. Since Greta’s mother is remarried, she and her daughter don’t share the same name. The mother’s name is Barker, but Greta’s is Olson.”
“And there are hundreds of those around,” Merry said with a faint smile. In fact, not only was her coworker Lori’s name Olson but so was that of her retired neighbor Hildy.
