Miracle Creek Christmas

by Krista Jensen

  She stepped away, keeping her cool. “I’m not lonely, and I didn’t invite you in. I’m working because it’s what I enjoy and because I keep my commitments.”

  He paused at that last part, then leaned toward her. “And what commitments might those be?”

  She said nothing, her grip still on the open door. A car slowly drove past, drawing her attention. He stepped even closer.

  “We both know what this is about,” he said. “This feeling between you and me.”

  She turned back to him, shaking her head. “Don’t flatter yourself. This is nothing.”

  He laughed. “It’s exactly what you want it to be.” Then he hooked his arm behind her and pulled her to him.

  She tried to push him away, but he didn’t budge. “You know nothing about me. And I’m asking you to leave.” Even as she spoke, the truth of his words haunted her. She hadn’t wanted anything deep with Dalton, and to men like him, that was a green light.

  “I’d like to get to know you, Riley.” He arched his brow. “Or does Rivers have the exclusive on that?”

  Another car drove past and she glanced at it, distracted.

  Dalton slipped his hand around the back of her head, turning her face to him. He pressed his mouth on hers.

  She shoved hard, and he stumbled back on his heels.

  “Get. Out,” she said, widening the door.

  He studied her, rubbing his lips with his fingers. “Can’t blame me for trying. Maybe I read your signals wrong.”

  “What signals? I got out of your car and said I’d see you on Monday.”

  He lowered his chin. “Not those signals.” He slowly eyed her up and down.

  She straightened her shoulders. “You need to leave. Now.”

  He nodded. “I’ll go.” As he brushed past her, though, he leaned close to her ear. “I’ll go slow.”

  She shook her head, disgusted by his persistence.

  He paused at the top of the front porch steps and turned. “You know, Rivers isn’t the saint people make him out to be.”

  “And you are?”

  He grinned wickedly. “Oh, honey. Nobody makes me out to be a saint.” He stepped toward her again, slowly. “I like things uncomplicated. And something tells me you do, too.”

  She shifted, uncomfortable with how right he was.

  “And the way the town is talking about you and a certain ex-fireman . . . Well, that has complicated written all over it.”

  Her pulse faltered at his words. “Who’s talking?”

  He tipped his head toward her. “Who do you think? If I were Rivers, I’d have a hard time keeping things to myself, too.”

  She fought to keep her expression neutral, suspecting Dalton was lying, but then she remembered Stephanie’s words from the restaurant. He spent the night at your house. Last night. Or have you already forgotten?

  Finally, Dalton backed away. “I can go slow, Riley. And with me, what you see is everything you get.”

  “That’s not doing you any favors,” she said, and closed the door.

  I don’t know if you heard, but there’s a ceremony at the park on the third. They’re unveiling a plaque for Jay. It has his face on it. I have to make a speech.”

  Mark winced. His words sounded worse out loud. He took a deep breath, gripping the socket wrench.

  “Riley,” he said, staring up at the underbelly of his truck, “there’s this ceremony for Jay on Friday. I was wondering if you’d like to come with me. There’s a ball the next week, I mean a dance—no, that’s not it.” He tried again. “I’d really like you to be there with me.”

  That was better. Maybe. He had some time. Maybe.

  His phone buzzed, and he scrambled to answer it, sticking the phone between his ear and his shoulder.

  “Hey, what’s up, Stephanie?” He rolled out from under his truck and wiped his hands with a towel.

  She sighed. “Last night I had dinner with Riley Madigan.”

  He straightened up and switched ears. “What? How?”

  “I wanted to—”

  “You know,” he interrupted, “when you talked about taking Riley out, I thought you meant me taking Riley out.”

  She was silent a few seconds. “Are you gonna let me talk or should I just hang up now?”

  He rolled his eyes. “Talk.”

  “Just know that I wanted you to hear it from me before Dalton starts blabbing about things that didn’t happen.”

  “Dalton?” He tried not to get his hackles up. “What didn’t happen?”

  “It’s what did happen.”

  His brow scrunched. “What did happen?”

  “Brian and I went to a celebratory dinner for the football staff, and Dalton brought Riley as his date. I swear I didn’t know.”

  His jaw clenched. He knew Dalton would keep asking Riley out. He just didn’t think—

  “Dalton was being all ‘Oh, look at my date, I’m going to be all handsy so you know she’s my date.’” Steph paused, then said in a rush, “And I may or may not have confronted her. About you. In the ladies’ room.”

  He dropped the towel. “What? Steph—” He didn’t know which made his blood hotter, the word “handsy” or “confronted.”

  “Now, before you go ballistic on me, I think we cleared some things up between us, and I like her.”

  “You like her.” He rubbed his face. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “In case Dalton starts talking up the date or whatever. I had the distinct impression he’d asked Riley to the dinner for my sake—or for your sake. Understand? And, in case she brings it up, I did not accost her.”

  “Did Gainer accost her?” he asked, alarmed.

  “I don’t think so. Except for possibly something unwelcome under the table just before I followed her to the bathroom.”

  Mark blinked. “I think you’re both nuts.”

  “Me and Riley?”

  “You and Gainer.”

  “Oh, hey, don’t throw me in with that player. I’m trying to help. Just understand that I think Riley is genuine and you shouldn’t feel threatened in this friendship or whatever you guys have.”

  Whatever you guys have. Obviously, Riley hadn’t defined their relationship any clearer than that. And why would she, on a date with Dalton Gainer? If he’d felt threatened, he wouldn’t have opened up to Riley the way he had on Friday. “You know, I was feeling pretty good until you called.”

  “Oh, no, now see? I need you to understand that I’m helping.”

  Yeah, like a shovel to my face. “I really appreciate it.”

  “I can hear your sarcasm, and I’m choosing not to be offended because I know I may have jeopardized your relationship and I feel terrible about that. Honestly, though, after knowing you spent the night at her place, it was confusing to see her with Dalton. Brian had to practically hold me down in my chair when he introduced her.”

  Mark frowned. So much about everything she’d just said troubled him. “Relationship” and “spent the night” especially.

  “Steph, how did you hear—?” He took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “What exactly did you tell Riley in the bathroom?”

  As Steph related what was said, Mark’s confidence began to unravel. The idea of seeing Riley again clouded with dread.

  “Are you mad at me?” Steph asked, sounding truly sorry.

  He paused. “I can’t tell if I’m grateful you told me, or sick.”

  She made a whimpering sound. “I’ll make it up to you.”

  He ran his hand over his face. This shouldn’t be a big deal. Right? He had no claim on Riley.

  Then why did his insides burn with a lava flow of envy and possession?

  Take it easy, Rivers.

  “When are you going to see her again?”

  He pulled himself together. �
�I was going to go over later today. I left my hat over there.”

  “You took your hat off? In front of her?”

  “Don’t make more of it than it is.” Her silence told him she was making more of it than it was. “We just talked. Just—you can’t say ‘spent the night.’ It gives people the wrong idea, and I don’t want that for her. We had a good talk, that was all.”

  She was quiet for a few moments. “Did you kiss her?”

  He chuckled ruefully. “No.” Just a peck on her head.

  “Maybe you should have.”

  He laughed outright, pinching the bridge of his nose. He’d never wanted to kiss Riley more than after she’d listened to him spill his guts and still curled up next to him. “Doesn’t matter.”

  “For what it’s worth . . . it matters a lot.”

  “Not helpin’, sis.”

  Riley scowled at the shepherd’s expression, which scowled back at her. Her mood had translated into his bent eyebrows and downturned mouth. He wasn’t frowning, really, but he wasn’t exactly spreading tidings of great joy.

  He was probably distracted, worrying about Mark and his sister and small, small towns.

  Little towns. “O Little Town of Bethlehem.”

  Letting out a growl of frustration, she stomped her foot.

  Why had she come here?

  You wanted a fresh start.

  She sighed and opened the jar of black paint. Start at the start. She painted over the face. She’d let it dry and try again. Putting excessive pressure on herself to get these faces right was getting to her. She’d always been a perfectionist, but this was a wooden stand-up nativity scene meant for a lonely stretch of mountain highway.

  Not the freaking Sistine Chapel.

  A quiet knock sounded at the front door. She groaned and pressed the heel of her hand to her forehead. “Go away,” she whimpered. Then she called out, “Just a minute,” and washed up in the bathroom. When she finally opened the front door, she stepped back. “Mark.”

  He smiled at her, his thumbs tucked in his back pockets. “Hi.”

  “What are you doing here?” She winced, not meaning to sound so abrupt. His smile wavered, and that alone made her try harder. “I mean, hello. Come in, it’s cold.” She motioned him inside.

  He took a step, but then paused. “I came to get my hat. I can just grab it quick, or I can come back later if you’re busy.”

  His hat. From the other night when he’d shared his nightmare with her and he’d still kept her safe and warm on the sofa. She leaned her head against the door as she held it open. “Of course, your hat. I’m sorry. I’m just”—she opened the door ­wider—“frustrated.”

  He stepped past her. “I know how that goes,” he muttered.

  She shut the door and guessed that Stephanie had talked. Or Dalton had. Mark turned and faced her, and the caution she saw in him unsettled her.

  She grabbed his hat off the desk and handed it to him.

  “Thanks,” he said. He squeezed it from one hand to the other. She suddenly wished she hadn’t insisted he look at her straight on, because he was. The look burned through her, and her cheeks warmed.

  “Are you painting?” he asked.

  “Yeah. The angry shepherd.”

  A look of puzzlement crossed his face, then cleared. “I won’t keep you, then.”

  He stepped around her, smelling like crisp air and sawdust, but before he opened the door, he rounded on her. “Riley.”

  He was so close to her she looked almost straight up at him. She swallowed.

  “I know my sister talked to you—”

  “I’m guessing you know about—”

  They both paused after speaking over each other.

  “Go ahead,” she said.

  He nodded. “I know my sister talked to you while you were out with Gainer, and I want you to know that I didn’t put her up to that. She can be a real hothead, and she’s just protective. But it’s no excuse.”

  Riley nodded.

  His brows furrowed. “That’s not to say if I’d been in her place, I wouldn’t have done the same thing.”

  Her eyes widened. “You would’ve followed me into the ladies’ room?”

  “Maybe,” he said, a half-smile forming. “I would’ve looked like an idiot, and I would’ve had no right, but Gainer didn’t have the right to set you up like that.”

  The lift she’d felt at her own lips faded. “Setup?” she repeated. “You think Dalton was out with me just to get to you?”

  “Maybe.” He ran his hand over his face. “I don’t know.” He shook his head, looking down at the floor. He brought his gaze up to meet hers. “Here’s the truth,” he said. “When Steph told me you were out with Gainer, after the day we’d spent ­together—I wanted to—”

  She swallowed. “You wanted to what?”

  His hand came up and gently brushed a lock of hair out of her eyes. Her pulse heightened at his touch. She tried to temper it. Had he really led people on about the other night?

  “I know we’re friends,” he said. “We keep saying we’re just friends. But you’re important to me, Riley. And I guess Steph picked up on that. So, while I want to wring her neck, I can’t blame her.” His hands move to her arms, rubbing them softly. “And when she told me you were out with Gainer, I wanted to get over here . . . Remind you of what’s . . .”

  “Of what’s what?” she ­whispered.

  His grip firmed on her arms, and his gaze held hers. “Of what’s real.”

  Her heart shuddered. What’s real.

  He watched her a few seconds, his gaze drifting to her mouth. The heart she was cursing to stay steady pounded far too wildly in her chest.

  Mark cautiously took a half-step closer, and she felt her eyes drifting closed.

  She didn’t know how to attach herself to anyone. No more than she knew how to attach herself to any place. The last time she thought she had, she’d failed.

  Dalton’s words came back to her: “If I were Rivers, I’d have a hard time keeping things to myself, too.”

  She snapped her eyes open and pulled back.

  She swallowed, unable to meet his gaze. “You’re important to me, too.” Her thoughts whirled up in a defensive cyclone around her. “But I can’t say I’d follow you into a bathroom if I saw you out with a woman I suspected of using you.” She laughed pathetically. “Dalton was a perfect gentleman the rest of the night.”

  Liar. A weight settled in her stomach. Her hands shook as she shoved them in her pockets.

  Mark was no longer looking at her. “My mistake, then.” He put his hand on the doorknob. “I’m glad Gainer treated you well.” Then he lifted his eyes. “I’m sorry my sister jumped to conclusions.”

  She nodded. “I understand. Small town, right?”

  He shrugged. “Blessing and a curse. Are you still coming to Thanksgiving?”

  She’d forgotten Thanksgiving. “Of course.”

  When he turned, she reached out and grabbed his hand. He looked down at her fingers grasping his.

  “Mark, the other night, that was important, and it mattered to me. That was real.”

  A smile softened the hardness of his mouth. “Thanks.”

  She continued, her voice hushed with caution. “I need a friend right now. I’m not sure I’m capable of more than that. Not with Dalton. Not with anyone.”

  He ran the tips of his fingers quickly along her cheek, then dropped his hand. Even so, her heart shuddered, and she begged it to be still.

  “Anything you need.”

  She breathed a sigh of relief.

  He stepped onto the porch. “There’s a ceremony at the park on December third, honoring Jay. The day before the tree-­lighting in Leavenworth. I’m giving a speech. I could use a friend, too.”

  She smiled. “I’ll be there.”
>
  He looked down at the hat squashed in his hands. “Let me know when you want me to mud that wall. We can paint the room, then. I, um, brought you a present. A gift for the house.”

  “Oh, you didn’t have to—”

  He picked up something red and shiny from beside the doorway.

  “You got me a fire extinguisher,” she whispered, surprisingly touched by the gesture.

  “Every home should have one,” he said. “I’ll install it whenever you want. Maybe while you’re at school so I’m not in your way. Anyhow, figure out where you want it and let me know.”

  “Thank you.” He got her a fire extinguisher. She took it from him, buckling a little under the weight. “I love it.”

  He paused, watching her. “If you come up with anything else—”

  Her eyes widened again, remembering. “I think I have wood floors under the carpets.”

  “Oh,” his weight shifted, his expression brightening a fraction. “Yeah, a lot of these houses do. When do you want to get the carpets pulled up?”

  “After the painting, I guess. Pulling carpet is my least favorite thing in a reno.”

  “I don’t mind it.”

  “Really?”

  “Don’t get me wrong. It’s a bully of a job. But tearing up old stuff so you can get what’s underneath to shine?” He set his hands on his hips. “I’d think you’d be all over that.”

  She blinked at him, feeling strangely exposed. “Why do you say that?” It’s what she’d been doing. What she’d been doing to him. Maybe what he’d been doing to her, too.

  He frowned. “Because of your antiques.”

  “Oh.” She nodded. “Of course.”

  He studied her a moment. “That looks good on you.”

  She glanced down at the fire extinguisher in her arms. When she looked back up, he was already down the porch steps.

  “I’ll talk to you soon,” she called after him.

  He waved without looking back. She closed the door and set the extinguisher down next to the desk. She eyed the rocker and walked over to it, dropping onto the cushion as Mark’s truck roared away. She placed her hands on each mellow oak arm and gripped the wood, rocking back and forth.