by Judy Baer
Still, to be fair, she didn’t know why Christmas was such a difficult time of year for him. He’d been accused by many women of being somber, aloof, and inscrutable. Ironically that usually made them more interested in him, until they discovered there was no way beneath the tough shell he wore. He cultivated that armor for a reason. It kept him from remembering the day his entire family fell apart.
He didn’t realize the dog was under the kitchen table until Peppy uncurled himself and thrust his nose from beneath the tablecloth, interrupting Jack’s musings. Peppy stretched, paws forward, and yawned so widely he displayed an entire mouthful of white teeth and pink gums and tongue. If Jack looked fully into that mouth, he’d probably see the inside of the tip of Peppy’s tail.
The dog then sauntered to the back door and bumped his nose on a string of silver bells Jack hadn’t noticed until now. Merry automatically opened the door and Peppy raced outside.
“What’s that about?”
“The bells, you mean? I get involved in things around the store and forget to take poor Peppy out, so I taught him to ring the sleigh bells when he needs to go outside. We’re both happier as a result.”
He wanted to accuse her of kidding him, but it was obviously true. She had the dog ringing sleigh bells all year long, he’d guess, summer included.
As if she’d read his mind, she said, “I love hearing sleigh bells in the summer.”
“You are an incorrigible Christmas addict.”
Merry’s smile brightened. “I am, aren’t I? Thank you!”
He hadn’t meant it to be a compliment, just an observation, but Merry looked as if he’d handed her an armful of roses.
Mentally, he surrendered. He’d never understand this woman. Fortunately he didn’t have to. As soon as he’d straightened out this mess his long-dead relative had made, he could go back to California, where the sun always shone and it was much, much easier to ignore the trappings of Christmas.
“Maybe I’ll just go upstairs,” Jack said as he pushed away from the table. “I have some reading to do, and I should check in with my business team. I can’t make myself too dispensable or they’ll never notice I’m missing.” He smiled ruefully.
“You have a nice smile,” Merry blurted. “You should do it more often.” She blushed. “Sorry, I’ve got a big mouth. Or at least one that refuses to stay shut. I didn’t mean to sound so personal. No offense?”
“None taken.” He’d found it was hard not to smile around this woman, even though those muscles were rarely exercised these days. He hadn’t felt like smiling this much for a very long time.
Abruptly he pushed away from the table, thanked her for the food, and retreated to his room, where he paced until he had his thoughts under control.
It was a pleasant spot, he considered, with a comfortable reading chair, an antique table that acted as a desk, and the fireplace that felt wonderful on these cold nights. It even had Wi-Fi and cable television. And great food. He really couldn’t ask for more.
The phone rang. “Frost here.”
“Yo, boss, what’s up?”
“Hi, Vince. Shouldn’t I be asking you that question?”
“We’re great here. Don’t even know you’re gone.”
“That’s not exactly comforting.” Vince had been with him for ten years and could practically read his mind. He also knew more about Jack’s past than any other person on the planet.
“But there are things that crop up . . .”
“Thank goodness.”
“We need somebody to sign purchase orders, for one thing. You know how fussy accounting is if they haven’t gone through you.”
“They should be. I threatened them with something dire if one ever got past them.”
“I’ll overnight them to you. How can I expect to get them back? Pony Express?”
“I have Wi-Fi. I’ll scan them once they’re signed and send them to accounting. I’ll even call and tell them they’re coming so they get off your back.”
“Wi-Fi? What’s next in Podunk, USA? A movie theater with talking pictures? Fast food? ATMs?”
“You’re a California snob, Vince. It would do you good to come to the Midwest. It has a lot going for it that you don’t know about.”
“That vast open space between LA and New York? No thanks. You can tell me about it though. How’s the place you finally found to stay?”
“Good. Some parts are great and others . . .”
“And others?” Vince encouraged.
“The little town of my youth has been hijacked by Christmas frivolity.”
Vince whistled. “I’ll bet you love that. How did that happen? I thought Frost had less than two hundred people.”
“Apparently it takes just one to change that.” Jack told him about Merry’s Christmas Boutique, the tea parties, the bed-and-breakfast, and even the sleigh-bell-ringing dog.
“There are elves in the trees, decorations that would put Martha Stewart to shame, and women baking cookies in the church kitchen day and night. And for some reason unbeknownst to me, they’re planning a lutefisk dinner for the entire town.”
“What’s lutefisk?” Vince asked.
“Fish.” Jack decided not to explain further. Vince needed to experience that for himself.
“I don’t see anything wrong with that. But I do understand that you might be upset about the other stuff. You can’t let it get to you. Life goes on, Jack.”
“I know, I know. And mine should go on too. Well, it has. My business is booming, I have friends. . . .” Jack started to pace back and forth across the room, from the entry to the bay windows and back again, suddenly restless.
“That’s not what I meant and you know it.”
“Let’s not talk about this anymore,” Jack said, trying very hard not to sound like he was pleading. He hated it when Vince went down this path.
“Then tell me more about this Santa fiasco you’re embroiled in.”
“Everyone in town is gung ho about celebrating Christmas—a holiday ice fishing tournament, the Parade of Lights that apparently boils down to tractors and old cars strung with lights driving down Main Street, and there’s a partridge in every pear tree.” Jack took another turn around the room.
“This silly woman Merry Blake has turned the town into a mini Las Vegas of Christmas lights, gifts, and kitschy decorations!”
He realized at once that he’d raised his voice loud enough that it could be heard plainly in the hallway. Hopefully Merry was nowhere around. Then he heard Peppy’s sleigh bells ring in the kitchen and Merry’s footsteps just outside his door. They passed by and the stairs creaked as she went to let the dog outside.
She must have been at the hallway closet where the bedding, towels, shampoo, and other sundries were kept. Now he could only hope he hadn’t been overheard.
“Gotta go, Vince. Call you tomorrow.” He went to the door, ready to apologize. Then he thought better of it. Maybe she hadn’t heard him. He hoped desperately that she hadn’t. She was a sweet woman. The last thing she needed was her guest bad-mouthing her dream, no matter how strongly he disagreed with it.
* * * * *
A silly woman who had turned the town into a mini Las Vegas of Christmas lights, gifts, and kitschy decorations, huh? Is that what she was? Merry tried her hardest not to stomp down the stairs to the kitchen. Peppy was lying on the floor by the door, looking innocent and in no hurry to get out. He rose slowly as she entered.
“Peppy, were you just playing again? Every time you want me you can’t be ringing that bell! Only when you need to go out, okay?”
The dog’s eyes were bright and intelligent, and he seemed to nod in agreement. Of course, that was in her imagination, and she knew very well that he’d do it again—and again. It was a game he played. Merry knew that she’d have to be the one to learn to discern between nature’s call and Peppy’s desire for human companionship.
Merry sat down on a chair and buried her nose in the fur at the ruff of the dog’s neck. �
�Oh, Peppy, I just heard what Jack Frost really thinks of me.” It might have been better if she’d never heard, but it was done now and she had to decide what to do about it.
At the moment, she was very tempted to “un-invite” Jack from her house. Then the same verse in the first book of Peter that so often inspired her now began to chastise her.
“Show hospitality to one another without grumbling.”
God was big on hospitality.
“Lord, help me with this!” she petitioned anxiously. “How am I supposed to be hospitable to someone I’d like to punch in the eye?”
After a little conversation with God, Merry had calmed down enough to coax both Peppy and Nog up to her bedroom. She put on her softest pajamas, gathered her hair into a bundle that resembled a spouting whale, and secured the hair bundle with a band. Then she walked to her bookshelf and pulled out one of the old photo albums from her childhood.
Her mother had been diligent about recording every moment of her only child’s life. Pictures were neatly ordered, giving a linear perspective of young Merry Noel’s existence. Days after her birth . . . learning to eat solid food and dispensing most of it on the top of her head . . . standing beside a Christmas tree decorated with red bows—it was all there. There was a photo of Christmas every year—only one. Sometimes Merry held a birthday cake as she stood there, giving a nod to the fact that Christmas was also her birthday.
The only whimsical thing her parents had ever done, she’d decided long ago, was to name their daughter Merry Noel.
The memories of her first years were good. Her parents always put forth the effort to make Christmas extra special. Sometimes there would be two birthday cakes—one for her and one for baby Jesus. It wasn’t until she was five or six that she began to realize that Christmas was celebrated very differently at the houses of her friends.
Families came together. Cousins frolicked. Aunts and uncles chatted. Grandmothers cooked and served meals, and great-grandmothers smiled benevolently from their rocking chairs. Or, at least that was how Merry imagined it to be. Christmas was for families, a time to come together and celebrate the birth of the Lord.
Each year her own Christmas, celebrated with only her mother and father, seemed smaller and lonelier. They tried hard to make it a special day, but Merry longed to be a part of one of those large families. As much as she loved her parents and all they did for her, Christmas came to connote two very different things in her young mind—the glorious birth of a Savior . . . and loneliness.
When she was fourteen, Merry decided to do something about it. She would bring Christmas to others. Or she would bring others to Christmas. Suddenly Christmases at their home were changed. Merry acted like an undercover spy for six weeks before December 25. If she heard of anyone who didn’t have a place to go for dinner, she told her mother, who dutifully invited the individual, often someone she didn’t even know, to their home.
As the parties grew, so did Merry’s joy. At seventeen, she made up her mind—she would do everything in her power to make sure everyone had a family for Christmas.
That had led, in a roundabout way, to the store. She’d volunteered to set up a Christmas shopping event for families of children who came to the local food shelf with their parents. Each child could “spend” a penny, a nickel, or a quarter—whatever they had—on a gift for each parent. Businesses began donating gifts, and the event turned into a huge party.
That success as a teenager ultimately emboldened her to open a small Christmas store in Frost. And the rest was history.
She wouldn’t let Jack’s hurtful comments stop her. He thought she was crazy. She thought he was an iceman emotionally.
Who knew? Merry thought. Maybe she was the one meant to thaw his frozen heart.
Chapter Seven
• • • • • • • • • • • •
Breakfast was destined to be a quiet affair. Even Peppy knew enough not to start ringing the bells at the back door.
Jack trudged into the kitchen wearing a wary expression, as if he were afraid a frying pan or an airborne egg strata might come flying his way.
Merry, however, kept her back to him, turning only briefly to plop a bowl of homemade granola and a toasted bagel slathered with butter in front of him. She’d filled a carafe with coffee so she wouldn’t have to serve it and made sure cream cheese, honey, and jam were already on the table.
She wasn’t angry, just hurt. She tried so hard to make her home and store a joyous place, but, ironically, she’d failed miserably with Jack Frost. Surely someone with that name should be pro-Christmas!
Finally Merry had to turn toward the table with a platter of hickory-smoked bacon. When she placed the plate in front of Frost, his fingers closed around her wrist.
“So you heard me talking on the phone?”
“I didn’t intentionally eavesdrop. I was putting away towels and . . .”
“I’m sure you weren’t. It’s me that owes you an apology. I was out of line. I was talking to Vince, my best friend. I was tired and it made me stupid. You aren’t silly, and the store isn’t kitschy. Vince would tell you I have a problem with Christmas. What I said says more about me than it does about you. I hope you’ll accept my apology.”
She could almost physically feel his regret. Jack wasn’t a bad guy. He was just, in her opinion, really messed up about Christmas. He seemed to have faith—he prayed willingly and comfortably at meals and had a solemn respect for the holiday but complete intolerance for anyone else’s vision.
Merry knew what she had to do: show him grace. She’d received enough of that herself to know she was not the one to withhold it from others.
“It’s okay. I am silly sometimes, and everyone has a right to their own opinion about what I do.”
“No one has a right to belittle another human being. It wasn’t even about you, not really. Any attitudes I have about this season are mine and mine alone.”
She dropped into the chair next to him. He was still holding her wrist, but it was a very gentle touch and she didn’t mind. In fact, to her surprise, she rather liked it. “Apology accepted.”
She was surprised when his shoulders drooped with relief. So he didn’t have an impenetrable fortress built around his heart. Though a rich, successful, and handsome man, he had his share of issues as well.
Merry found herself liking him better. He was very, very human, just like her.
After that, breakfast was a relaxed affair until Merry glanced at the clock. “I’d better get going or I’ll be late.” She began to shrug into her winter coat and tucked her feet into her boots. “Relax. Take your time. There’s more coffee.”
She wrapped a lengthy red scarf around her neck and grabbed her canvas bag. “See you tonight?”
“Yes. If you’re sure, that is . . .”
“Ancient history. Have a good day.” Merry scratched Peppy’s head and closed the door behind her.
Whistling softly, she buckled herself into the driver’s seat of her car and turned the key in the ignition. Nothing.
She tried again, paying more attention this time. Still nothing. Frowning, she glanced around the interior and her gaze settled on the passenger door. It was ajar. Her battery was dead.
Merry raced back into the house at twice the speed she’d left it. Jack was still at the kitchen table drinking coffee and scratching behind Peppy’s ear. The dog appeared hypnotized as he rested his chin on Jack’s leg. More surprising was the fact that the cat was sleeping in the sun at Jack’s feet.
“What’s wrong?” Jack straightened in his chair, and Peppy gave Merry a disgusted look.
“I left my car door open last night. I was carrying groceries in and must not have closed it fully. I’m supposed to be at school in twenty minutes!”
“I’ll drive you. Then I’ll come back and get your battery charged. Let me know what time you want to be picked up after school.”
“You can’t do that!”
“Why not? I know how to drive.” He s
ounded amused.
“You’ve got work to do. You shouldn’t have to bother with me.”
Jack put his hands on Merry’s shoulders to stop her from spinning around the room like a top. “I’ll drive you,” he pronounced each word slowly, as if speaking to an upset child. “Please. I’d like to help you. I’d feel better if you’d let me.”
Merry grew still. That, she understood. “Well, if you’d feel better . . .”
“I’ll get my jacket and my keys.”
* * * * *
Merry squirmed in her seat all the way to Blue Earth. “I’ll have a tow truck come out and jump the car. There’s no use having you bother with it.”
“No bother. Don’t spend the money.”
That seemed to register with her. Money, he’d realized, was fairly limited in Merry’s world. It never had been in his.
“But how . . .”
“Don’t worry. I was a teenage boy once. I know a lot about cars. I took a few apart and put them back together in my day.”
She looked thoughtful, as if she were trying to imagine it. It struck Jack how attractive she was. He’d been turned inward so long that it really hadn’t fully registered earlier. Her features were delicate, her skin porcelain, like peaches-and-cream. There was a fragility about her that was easy to forget because of her outgoing personality. The sunlight filtered through her pale golden hair, and it haloed around her head. She chewed on her rosy lower lip. Jack found it very endearing.
“It still seems like a lot to ask.”
He pulled up to the sidewalk near the school. He’d gotten to know the town very well in the past few days. As Merry was about to swing her legs out of the car, a little girl with golden curls and remarkable blue eyes came dashing toward them.
“Miss Blake, Miss Blake!”
The child was a study in contrasts, Jack realized. Her face was truly lovely, the kind of child one sees on television commercials and print ads, but her clothing looked as though it had been worn too many times and by too many children. And her eyes were filled with tears.
“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Merry asked when the little girl nearly crumpled into her lap.
