by Judy Baer
“There are more lights in the storage closet. I accidentally labeled them ‘ornament hangers.’”
“Of course.” Abby sighed dramatically. “That makes perfect sense.” She was beginning to show the wear and tear of the season. Her eyes were weary and her perkiness somewhat subdued.
“Hang on, Abby,” Merry encouraged. “It isn’t long until Christmas now. That reminds me, when we sell out of tablecloths, offer them table runners and placemats. It’s too late to order more.”
In fact, Merry observed, her little store was slowly emptying. There were gaps where trees once sat, and most of the ornaments left on the shelves were purple or teal. She’d decorate a tree with those for the after-Christmas sale. They’d sell immediately then.
The cell phone in her pocket rang. When she answered, it was Vince’s voice on the other end of the line.
“Hi, Merry. Vince here. I just landed in Minneapolis. I’m standing in line to get my rental car. Would you give me directions to your place? It’s not showing up on my GPS.”
“Here already?” She hadn’t even checked his room yet to see that it was ready for a guest. And she didn’t have time to bake fresh cookies for him like she usually did for guests. Oh well, Vince didn’t sound like the kind of guy who’d mind too much.
When she hung up, she petitioned, Lord, make this all work out. I don’t know the whys of all that’s going on, but I know You are in charge. Help Jack to finally heal both physically and emotionally and me to know what I can do for him and his friend. And Greta, I pray for her family . . . and Hildy . . . and . . . She could have gone on all day, she realized. Fortunately God already knew what everyone needed and was able to accomplish without her help if He so chose.
“Merry?” Abby shook her by the sleeve. “Why are you just standing there in a daze?”
She blinked. “I almost forgot. I have to find a project that will entertain Jack Frost.”
“That won’t be easy,” Abby commented, “unless you give him windowpanes and brushes and ice to frost them with.”
Something clicked in Merry’s head. “Abby, you are absolutely brilliant. That’s what I’ll do!”
She left Abby standing dumbfounded and headed for the kitchen. She knew now what entertainment she could provide for Jack.
* * * * *
A short time later, Merry entered his room carrying a fishing tackle box, a thick pad of paper, and an easel.
“What’s this?” Jack sat up on the bed. He’d felt a little woozy from fiddling with the chair and had retreated to the bed to rest as soon as Merry had left. Maybe he wasn’t quite as strong as he thought he was. Of course, he’d never admit that to Merry.
“Something to entertain you.”
“I’m going fishing? Is that on the doctor’s list?” He stared at the tackle box.
“Don’t be silly.” She put the box and paper on the table and set up the easel beside the window. She put the pad of watercolor paper on it and opened the tackle box with a flourish.
“Paints?” He stared into the box of brushes and tubes of color.
“Watercolors. You’ll enjoy them.” She told him what Abby had said about Jack Frost and windows.
“What do you expect me to do?” He stared at the equipment like it was crawling with vipers. “I haven’t held a brush in my hand for years.”
“I expect you to stay out of my hair and to paint quietly until dinnertime.”
“That’s hours. I could paint the Sistine Chapel by then—if I really knew how to paint.”
“Have at it. By the way, Vince called. He’s in the Twin Cities. He’ll be here in a couple hours. You’d better get busy.” She ran water into a tin container and set it on the bedside table. “Have fun.”
Fun. So this was Merry’s idea of fun. Her personal life was even more mind numbing than his. Jack stared at the paper for a long while before picking up a pencil and, in faint sketches, imagining what the fictional Jack Frost might create. There was a brief moment in time when he’d entertained the idea of being an artist. Frost Brothers Gallery was the name he’d imagined. But Jamie was more gifted in that area, so Jack had backed off even before he’d started.
He had no idea when he’d quit painting and fallen asleep, he realized as he heard Vince’s familiar voice on the stairs. He barely had time to open his eyes before his friend burst into the room.
“So this is where you’ve been hiding out!” Vince took in the fireplace, the décor, and Jack’s pale features. “Very smart. I like it. And Christmassy. I feel like I’m in Macy’s in December.” He strode across the room and sat down on the bed by Jack, who’d struggled to a sitting position. “You look horrible, buddy.”
“Glad to see you too.” Jack gave a weak grin.
“Miss Merry says you’ve been working too hard sorting out this land deal. She also says you’re less than an ideal patient, that you’re restless, bored, and itching to get back to work.”
“True, true, and true,” Jack admitted. “But now that you’re here, you can do it in my place.” Vince was the only person he’d trust with the task.
“Now that that’s settled, how are you feeling?”
Jack took an internal scan of himself. He hadn’t been feeling much of anything, but now that Vince was here to help, he could relax.
“Achy, weak, like my limbs aren’t working together.”
“Good thing I got here when I did.”
At that moment Peppy and Nog came racing into the room, playing one of their chasing games. Nog leapt onto the bed and into Jack’s arms. Peppy skidded to a stop at the foot of the bed and began to whine.
“Okay, you can come up here too,” Jack said and the dog jumped onto the bed, his tail wagging wildly. The cat, meanwhile, had settled in Jack’s arms and was purring loud as a Sherman tank.
Vince’s jaw dropped. “I didn’t think you liked animals.”
“I do if they like me.” Nog purred and put his nose under Jack’s chin to nuzzle him.
“Well, I’ll be . . . This is amazing.”
“That’s what Merry says too. She says her cat hates men.”
At that moment, Nog seemed to realize Vince was there and hissed at him. Then he curled back into Jack’s chest and began purring again.
“So I see.” Vince glanced at Merry, who’d come in and stood by the easel near the window. “To what do you attribute this love relationship between your pets and Jack? I would have bet money they’d hate him.”
“Me too,” she responded absently. “I think he bribes them with treats.”
“Do not.” Jack patted Peppy’s rump. “They love me for myself.”
“Then they’re the only ones who do,” Vince joked. He stood up and walked toward Merry. “What are you looking at?”
“These watercolors. Jack, did you really do these?”
“Of course. It’s not like I had the opportunity to hire outside help. What’s wrong with them?”
Merry didn’t take her eyes away from what Jack had created. “Nothing. Absolutely nothing. They’re amazing!” She held one up for Vince. “Fernlike frost on a window-pane with the sun filtering through it. It looks so real.”
“Isn’t that what I, Jack Frost, am famous for?” Jack didn’t take her seriously.
“Really, Jack, these are good.”
“I may have taken a few art classes in my day, but never to rave reviews.”
“I have to agree with her, buddy,” Vince said. “I had no idea you had it in you.”
Jack looked doubtfully at them. “Right.”
Merry spun around. She was holding one of the frosty scenes. “May I sell this in my shop?”
“Are you crazy? These are simple little sketches, not artwork!”
“I know they are simple. That’s part of their charm. You’ve caught the idea of a frosty morning in so few strokes. I have some beautiful frames that would be incredible with these. I think people would buy them for last-minute gifts. Wait, I’ll show you.” She took a picture frame o
ff the bookshelf, popped out the photo of her parents, and demonstrated what Jack’s picture would look like framed. “Nice, right?”
Vince and Jack stared at the result.
It did look good, Jack realized in amazement.
She gathered the paintings and thrust them at Jack. “You’ll sign them, of course. Original paintings by the real Jack Frost!”
Vince thrust a pen into his hands and ordered, “Sign. These are great.”
He was so accustomed to signing things for Vince that Jack didn’t hesitate. It wasn’t until later that Jack wondered why he’d been so willing to put his John Hancock on something so silly.
Chapter Seventeen
• • • • • • • • • • • •
Vince settled down in a chair across from Jack and studied him until Jack scowled.
“What are you looking at?”
“You’ve lost a few pounds, but it looks good on you. How are you feeling?”
“You don’t care about that. You know the answer. What’s going on in that brain of yours?”
“Merry’s a beautiful woman.”
“I suppose,” Jack said grudgingly. Merry was beautiful but Vince was irritating him.
“She’s been taking good care of you.”
“I haven’t died, I guess.”
“That’s not as funny as you think, Jack. You were pretty close, according to Merry. She was very frightened for you. She might have saved your life. If you’d been in a hotel you never would have called an ambulance.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Jack admitted, suddenly realizing that Vince was probably right.
“Why don’t you marry her?”
“Where did that come from? We hardly know each other.” Jack squirmed uncomfortably.
“She probably knows you better than ninety percent of the people who think they know you. It’s time you let your guard down.”
Jack laughed humorlessly. “Right. ‘Oh, by the way, Merry. Thanks for putting me up at your B-and-B—and will you marry me?’”
“You could be a little smoother than that.”
Vince was actually serious, Jack realized. He needed to change the subject, quickly.
“What we need to talk about right now is the mess at the courthouse. There was a trust set up through which the taxes were paid and no one questioned it. It had always been done that way and no one researched it further. Far as I can figure out, something was recorded incorrectly at the courthouse at that time. The proof is there that the land was never sold to them, but for all intents and purposes, they consider it theirs.”
Vince shook his head somberly. “I’ll look it over and run it by another attorney to make sure we have it sorted out before we say anything to anyone.”
Jack closed his eyes and groaned.
“I’ll take care of everything. You’ve done all the leg-work. Your job is to get stronger now. Frankly, anything you try to do, I’ll consider interference.”
Jack was surprised that all he felt was relief.
“I’d also suggest you take my advice about Merry. She’s awesome—businesswoman, entrepreneur, cook, teacher, and nurse. You don’t run into that combination often. And she’d be good for you. She chooses joy while you are stuck in the sad history of your family. Merry’s the best medicine for you. Don’t think I don’t see it, Jack.”
“You need glasses,” Jack muttered. Suddenly he was very, very tired.
After Vince left it was only moments before Jack fell asleep. He was there, at the precipice, his hands on Jamie’s shoulders as he sat on the sled. They were laughing.
“Push me, Jack, push!”
“It looks pretty high, Jamie. If Mom knew . . .”
“But she doesn’t. Come on, Jack. You’re always so serious. You don’t know how to have fun.”
“Do too.” Jack felt a chill creep up his legs. The sun was bright but cold.
“Do not.”
“Do too.” But he said it doubtfully. Jamie was right. He wasn’t the fun twin. He was the scholar—Jamie, the party. He drew a deep breath, and the icy air burned his lungs.
“Push!” Jamie yelled.
Jamie thought he was a coward. That was even worse than the scolding they were bound to get from their mother. Jack pushed.
Then Jamie lay crumpled at the bottom of the hill.
“Wake up! Wake up!” Merry’s voice distracted him from the scene at the bottom of the hill. He swam slowly out of the nightmare, and Merry’s concerned features came into focus. “It’s okay. You were dreaming. I could hear you from down the hall.”
Jack shuddered.
With a soothing hand, Merry stroked his forehead and made comforting, wordless sounds. He was sorry when she stopped.
“That must have been one horrible dream.” Her pretty features were wrinkled with concern.
“Nothing I haven’t had before.” Jack struggled to sit up and took the glass of water she offered. “It’s very infrequent now, not like when I was a kid.”
“About your brother?”
“Yes. That day—it’s all crystal clear and exactly as it happened.”
“I’m so sorry.” She put her hand over his. Her fingers were warm, strong, and comforting.
“No big deal.” It was a big deal, of course, but he was glad she began to play the denial game with him.
“I came up to get those pictures you painted,” she said cheerfully. “I need to put them in the shop.”
“You were kidding about all that, right?”
“Not in the least.” She picked up what she’d come for, smiled a heartbreakingly tender smile, and walked out of the room, leaving Jack more bemused than ever.
* * * * *
Merry carried Jack’s paintings downstairs to the kitchen. Then she stole into the store and gathered up frames that might work with the scenes. She didn’t tell Abby or Hildy, who’d come over to help wrap gift items, what she was doing.
She had just finished framing the last one when Abby entered the kitchen.
“I’m taking a quick break. It’s quiet right now and Hildy’s at the till.” Abby plopped onto a stool. “My feet are killing me.” She glanced at the table and the framed art spread across it. “What’s this?”
“Something new for the store. Do you like it?”
Abby picked up one of the smaller pieces. “Gorgeous. It’s as though you can look through the glass and see what’s behind the frost.” She squinted. “Look here. There’s even glitter on the frost to reflect light. Someone with a lot of attention to detail did this.”
Merry hadn’t even noticed the sparkle before, but she did know there was a tube of silver glitter in her paint box. Jack hadn’t missed a thing.
“That’s cute.” Abby giggled. “It’s signed ‘Jack Frost.’ Fitting, I suppose, but why wouldn’t the artist want his or her own name on something this beautiful?”
“It’s a man who painted them, actually.” Merry poured coffee for them and sat down at the table. “And his name is Jack Frost.”
Abby’s eyes grew wide, and she pointed her index finger to the ceiling. “That Jack Frost? The one upstairs? I didn’t know he could paint!”
“Apparently he didn’t either. I gave him my paint box to keep him busy and out of trouble, and he did these. Aren’t they amazing?”
“You’re going to sell them?” Abby couldn’t draw her gaze away from the table.
“I thought I’d try. He thinks it’s all crazy, but he obviously has no idea how good these are.”
Abby jumped to her feet. “There’s a lady in the store right now who might be interested. She said she wanted to give everyone in her family a piece of art this year. I’ve got to show her these!”
That left Merry at the table alone with her thoughts.
What was it about Jack that appealed to her so? Granted, he was rich, good-looking, and, when he wanted to be, charming. He could also be irascible, testy, and stubborn.
She leaned back in the chair and thought of him
during those days at the hospital when he was vulnerable, his emotions exposed. The pain of his brother’s accidental death had never left him, and he’d carried the heavy load so long. Merry wished she could carry some of that ache for him.
She sat up straight. The thought shocked her. Never before had she felt that way about someone. She was always willing to help, to champion, to comfort, but it wasn’t in her nature to want to be so sacrificial—until now. Until Jack.
* * * * *
Hildy left early saying something about rising bread dough, but at closing time, Abby approached Merry with sparkling eyes. “You’ll never believe it, Merry!”
Merry looked up absently. She’d been restocking shelves, visiting with customers, and trying to process her feelings for Jack. Now the customers were gone and the shelves stocked, but she was more confused than ever about her emotions. It had set her back on her heels, in fact.
Abby thrust out her hands. She was holding a large wad of bills. “This is what we made on Jack’s paintings!”
“There has to be at least nine hundred dollars there . . . surely not . . .”
“People loved them. The smaller ones went first, but they were still asking for them after we ran out. I sold a couple of the bigger ones too.”
“How did you know what to charge?”
“The first lady who came to the counter with one of the larger ones said she’d seen something like it at a gallery that was priced at three hundred dollars, so I said they were two hundred. She didn’t even blink. In fact, she said she wanted to know more about the artist. Her husband is an art teacher at a high school, and they collect new artists’ work.”
Abby grinned at Merry’s stunned expression. “So you’ll have to get Jack to write up a little bio about himself and his experience that we can hand out with each piece that’s purchased.”
Merry’s mouth worked but nothing came out. Surely this entire day was a dream, and she’d wake soon.
Then Vince loped downstairs while Jack followed him at a more sedate pace.
“Are they gone? The customers, I mean. Is it safe to come out?” Jack asked.
Merry nodded numbly, and Abby giggled. “I can’t wait to hear how he reacts when you tell him. Gotta go now, though. Hubby said he’d take me out for dinner tonight.”
