Love at Christmas Inn Collection 2

by Tanya Stowe et al

  She managed to return the receptionist’s welcoming smile.

  “Sorry. I uhm…I have a reservation.” She slid her identification across the counter and took a moment to admire the huge nativity scene on the wall above the registration desk. On a connecting wall, a huge Glockenspiel clock formed a striking focal point. Santa and a couple of elves chased each other around the house and back in through the front doors. Alissa thought the carillon bells hanging in a make-believe bell tower probably rang out every hour on the hour.

  “Well, I do declare.” The pretty lady behind the counter narrowed her eyes and nodded…two slow dips of a sweet, clefted chin. “Welcome to Christmas Inn, Miss Neal. I recall an older couple by that surname who come here often. I wonder if they’re related to you?”

  “Probably my parents. They come every year.”

  “And we’re always glad to see them. I’m Lydia, and I’m so happy to meet you.” She laughed—a soft, low, singing laughter that brought out an adorable dimple on each cheek. “I’m not always here, so I’m thinking coincidence had nothing to do with Brandi being sick today. I was supposed to meet you.”

  “Oh…uhm, that’s very sweet.” Was it, though? What kind of person says a thing like that to a stranger? “It’s nice to meet you too.”

  Lydia’s low, sweet laughter burst forth again, as if she knew Alissa’s statement stretched the truth by a hair or two. Didn’t matter. The melodic sound somehow soothed the strange chaos in Alissa’s tummy.

  Within moments, she was an official Christmas Inn guest. She closed her fingers around an old-fashioned turnkey, ready to take up temporary residence in the Bells and Mistletoe Suite. Giving Lydia a shaky smile, she turned toward the stairs to the right of the counter. On the opposite side, another staircase mirrored this one. Truly beautiful…but she didn’t plan to see the lower floor again for days. If she survived her first look at the suite, she’d be hunkered down there for most of her visit, doing what she loved to do.

  Words.

  Alissa enjoyed teaching, and adored her students. But that was her day job. She did what her heart most wanted in the evenings and on weekends.

  Cruciverbalism.

  She loved words. She loved puzzles. Nothing gave her more satisfaction than putting together a truly challenging, interesting, fun crossword—except, maybe, signing the contract to create twenty-five of them, for which she would receive the most lucrative check of her career heretofore. Either career.

  It had taken her a long time to reach that level with the publisher, and she’d been beyond thrilled with the offer. But if she didn’t get those puzzles completed and turned in by D-day—meaning her fast-approaching deadline—she might never get paid again. And that simply wasn’t a future she cared to consider. So she’d spend her time in a room most likely dripping mistletoe and adorned with a good many tinkling, jingling, clinking, clanging bells.

  Having left her luggage for someone else to bring up, Alissa wandered through the lobby, familiarizing herself with the layout. She discovered a cozy dining room on one side, a gift shop opposite that, and—to her complete surprise and delight—a craft room tucked in behind the gift shop. A wooden sign on the wall outside the door announced an hour-long class twice a week.

  A smile tugged at her lips. She’d loved all kinds of crafts as a young girl. Maybe she’d come downstairs once in a while, after all. Just once or twice, to try her hand at something she’d once enjoyed.

  She’d stopped crafting completely after…

  The smile faded and she whirled away from the room. Fifteen years wasn’t quite long enough to absorb the pain brought on by that kind of thinking. Thoughts of a teenaged boy with unruly black hair, sky blue eyes with a perpetual twinkle, a wide, crooked smile that almost shouted ‘mischief.’ Memories of one long-ago summer on an Oregon beach. Her first kiss.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry!” She’d barreled smack into a broad chest, and stayed upright only because a couple of strong arms kept her from falling on her backside. Her gaze flew upward—only to look into a pair of eyes eerily similar to those she’d been running from both mentally and physically.

  Before the startled gentleman could respond, she spun away. Key in hand, she hurried across the lobby and to the staircase. Each step upward schooled her wayward mind into safer, more comfortable channels. Words. Lots of words. Big words, little words. Words that crissed and crossed and drowned out unproductive thoughts, unwanted memories and useless emotion.

  Tintinnabulum. Step. Cacophonic. Step. Jangle. Step.

  By the time she arrived at her door, which bore a silver plate proclaiming it the Bells & Mistletoe Suite, her near lapse of composure was a thing of the past. Control felt good.

  Recess over. Time for class.

  After a delicious Christmas Inn dinner, Scott Lowell took a seat in one of the several conversation areas in the lobby to people watch—one of his favorite things to do when he took time to relax.

  He saw her enter…the picture of beauty and grace, but somewhat hesitant. Her gaze flitted from here to there to somewhere else in a heartbeat. He covered his mouth to hide a grin. Either this woman wasn’t sure she was in the right place, or she was dealing with the initial shock some folks experienced upon entering the inn. Were he a betting man—which he wasn’t—he’d place his wager on the latter. He’d seen it happen at least a dozen times since his arrival a week ago.

  For some reason, she fascinated him, this hesitant beauty. A blue-black sheen highlighted long hair the color of darkest coal, and far too healthy and vibrant for those highlights to be fake. Clear, perfect olive skin required no enhancement. Full lips that didn’t smile, despite the deep glow of some indefinable shade of lip gloss—somewhere between pink, red and purple. Who knew? High cheekbones in a heart-shaped face.

  He cocked his head and narrowed his gaze. Doggoned if she didn’t remind him of that actress…he couldn’t remember her name, but she’d played the youngest of three sisters—the wild-child one of the trio—on a series that aired sometime in the late ’90s. Something magical. Bedazzled? Jinxed? Spellbound? No—Charmed! Yes. The woman, who now stood at the registration desk with her back to him made him think of that beautiful young actress, whose name he still couldn’t quite recall.

  Scott watched the beauty slide her ID across the counter. Too bad he wasn’t close enough to hear her name, should Miss Lydia use it. But with all the activity in the lobby during the dinner hour, that didn’t stand a chance of happening. For some reason, he found himself getting up from his comfortable chair to move closer as she turned away from the desk. She wandered to the door of the dining room and peeked inside. Stepped across the lobby to stare through the gift shop window for a moment.

  Then she took a step back and turned her head, sending that glorious hair dancing around her face and neck, and swinging in a shiny cascade almost to her waist. Suddenly she stood up straighter. Her chin lifted a hair and she almost…but not quite…smiled. Her lips curved upward just enough to notice, and she strode to the door of a small room behind the gift shop.

  Ahh. So she enjoyed crafting.

  He’d known a young girl once who loved to turn little bits of this and that and the other thing into pretty, interesting and useful items.

  He slid a hand into his pocket and rubbed a smooth, flat disc between thumb and index finger. He had to be the only adult male in the universe who carried a shiny button with him everywhere he went. After so many years, he should have lost it, or rubbed off the pattern…something. But no, he kept it close to him always, and it still looked just as it had the day she pressed it into his hand there on that Oregon beach.

  “So you’ll never forget me.” She’d raised up to give him a short, sweet kiss.

  “Never. I’ll never forget you, Lissy.”

  He hadn’t, for all the good it did him. He’d never seen or heard from her again after their tearful goodbye.

  Stop it, Scott. Lissy’s history. Look at this divine creature right in front of you…sh
e’s stunning!

  The woman reached out to touch the wooden “Crafting Classes” sign on the wall. She closed her eyes, and somehow he knew she was lost in memory—rather like he’d been mere seconds ago.

  Then, as if something had singed her soul, she swung away from the room in a quick whirl, leaving Scott no time to step out of her way. She slammed hard against his chest and bounced backward.

  “Whoa, there!” Without even thinking, he reached out with both arms. He intended only to keep her from falling, but she ricocheted right back against him, and he held her there for a brief second.

  Just to keep her from falling backward again. That’s all.

  “Oh! I’m so sorry…” Her gaze flew upward.

  Wide eyes, almost wild at the moment. Almond-shaped, slightly up-tilted, and that deepest, darkest brown…

  But those beautiful orbs didn’t really focus for more than that one, startled split second.

  I don’t think she even sees me.

  But he saw her, and Scott drank in every detail. The delicate curve and rosy hue of softly rounded cheeks. The pinky-purple color of full lips—lips that had surely been created for wide, glorious smiles, though not a trace of one touched them now. Thick, dark eyelashes, so long they swept her high cheekbones when she blinked.

  A bright amber ring circled brown-black irises. Gold flecks danced within those dark orbs, making them seem lit from within even in the absence of life-giving joy.

  She jerked free of his grasp and all but ran to the staircase.

  Scott let out a low “oomph.” He dropped into the nearest chair and tracked her from there as she rushed up the stairs.

  Lissy. Only Lissy had eyes like that.

  Chapter 2

  ALISSA SHUT HER LAPTOP DOWN and slammed the lid. Not wise, since she couldn’t afford a new one. But seriously, why couldn’t she think?

  Because I’ve barely slept or eaten for two days? Because I’ve had no exercise at all during that time, other than clicking and dragging my mouse around? Oh, yes—and thinking up words and definitions for the current puzzle, which is crossing out every single brain cell I ever possessed?

  She sighed and headed for the shower.

  Because I need to wash that man right outta my hair?

  Despite her frustration, she giggled. The catchy tune originated in an old Broadway musical. The film version of South Pacific was a favorite—she’d seen it more than a few times. Finding the song adapted for a hair color jingle in the ’70s had delighted her. She’d discovered it when she and her journalism students spent a week’s worth of classes studying television ads from past decades alongside new ones for the same type of products. The kids loved it, even though they’d known the next week would be full of quizzes and tests—culminating in a five-page essay from each student on some aspect of TV commercials through the years.

  Alissa found herself humming the jingle as she shampooed her hair and relived that flash of something scarily wonderful when she’d barreled into the handsome man in the lobby. The man with purple-blue eyes…eyes like Scott’s. She’d focused on them for less than a second before shutting them out because they jump-started her heart. Her tummy performed a couple of backwards somersaults, and her breath took a mini vacay.

  His eyes were the color of the bluest sky in October. They literally danced with fun and mischief. And yes, she knew that’s what the gleam in those blue peepers represented.

  She knew. How?

  Snuggled into a cloud-soft white bathrobe with the Christmas Inn logo tastefully embroidered on the collar, she reached for the blow dryer. The shower had awakened her to the real world, one with more shape, texture and color than the black-and-white grids of crossword after crossword. She’d take a break—get dressed, go downstairs, and dine in style. Her parents claimed the Christmas Inn dinner experience was not to be missed.

  She glanced at the clock on the dressing room vanity. A tiny crystal cardinal perched on a sprig of glass mistletoe atop the small timepiece.

  Alissa smiled and took a moment to appreciate her surroundings. While the décor in her suite set a definite holiday tone, nothing ventured into distasteful or over-the-top. The little holiday touches strummed a chord in her heart—a chord that prompted memory-songs of Christmases past.

  A bell windchime hung out on the balcony. Several times, Alissa had opened the sliding doors to enjoy the musical tinkle when a breeze happened by. She must find one to take home—maybe more than one. Both Mom and her sister-in-love, Mimi, would enjoy the harmony of sound created by the wind’s seductive dance through the colorful bells.

  Maybe the gift shop carried the item. If she hurried a little, she might have time to stop there before dinner. Even if they didn’t carry the chimes, perhaps they could tell her where to find them.

  Failing all that, surely they’d have other items she’d fall in love with.

  She dropped the blow dryer in the sink, picked up her makeup bag and set to work.

  The silence in the room combined with the lack of busyness to fill her mind with unwanted images.

  Deep, cerulean blue, dancing eyes. Thick black eyebrows. One of them had shot up to shelter beneath a lock of jet-black hair when she bumped into him. The other dove downward.

  Oregon. Scott Lowell. His eyes were exactly like the stranger’s…the man whose arms had held her upright. They’d danced and sparkled, barely containing his love of life, and the joy in his soul. Even his eyebrows played that same little stairstep game—one up, one down. She’d teased Scott about his ‘crooked eyebrows.’ He’d teased back because she couldn’t make hers do the same thing.

  With a low growl, Alissa tossed aside the eyeshadow. She applied a quick sweep of mascara to her eyelashes and a soft brush of blush to her cheeks, then picked up a tube of lip gloss.

  “I refuse to think of him every time I see a guy with blue eyes…even though eyes that specific color are not exactly commonplace.” She spoke sternly to the woman in the mirror. “I also utt-uh-we we-fuse…arrgh!”

  Might as well stop talking to herself until she finished applying her favorite lip gloss—the beautiful plumberry shade she’d worn almost exclusively for a couple of years. Yes, it was good with her skin tone, but wasn’t it also…?

  Alissa spun the top back on and held the tube up to the light, stunned by the sudden revelation.

  Her lip shade was the exact color of the berries she and—him…the kid in Oregon—used to pick and eat right off the vine. They’d found the huge berry patch while out exploring a little further inland than usual. It had become an almost daily destination for the two of them.

  Until this moment, she hadn’t made the association. Why now?

  Getting into her dress took her mind off all that for a while. I should know better than to bring something that zips in the back when I’m alone on a trip! Then she grinned, because nothing would have convinced her not to bring this evening gown. She loved everything about it. The deep purple fabric caressed with buttery softness and clung to her body in all the right places, just enough to remain perfectly modest.

  She slipped her feet into a pair of silver heels that Doug and his wife had given her as an early Christmas gift. Mimi winked when Alissa opened the box. “Thought you’d like those.”

  “Mimi, you’re so bad!”

  The two of them had been shopping together when Alissa bought the purple evening gown. She’d drooled over the shoes, displayed with a matching handbag, but refused to make the financial splurge.

  “I have a pair of white ones that will look perfectly fine with this dress.”

  Despite Mimi’s arguments, she’d held strong—only to be given the gorgeous shoes as a gift.

  Mimi had indeed been very “bad,” because before Alissa left for the airport, her mother gave her another gift box. This one held the matching silver evening bag.

  Alissa placed her plumberry lip gloss and a small hair brush, added a few folded bills, and then snapped the jeweled clasp.

  “I�
��m so spoiled.” She grinned at her reflection. “Here’s lookin’ at you, kid,” she drawled. Then she glided to the door in her best fashion model impression.

  And there she froze.

  What if I see him?

  After a moment of pure terror, she slowly relaxed.

  “What if I do see him?” She spoke aloud, the better to convince herself. “I don’t know him. He doesn’t know me. I’m not likely to fall into his arms again, so his dancing eyes and dueling eyebrows won’t make me remember…Oregon. I can do this! I can—oh!”

  She swung back and strode across the room to sit on the edge of the bed. A small canvas box sat on the nightstand. Alissa picked it up and ran the tip of one finger over a bright red, green and white button affixed to the top. Then she lifted the lid and poured the contents out onto the coverlet. Four more buttons, clearly from the same set as the box topper, yet no two were alike. Same color family, different designs. Two sported polkadots, green and red on one, red on white for the other. One had circular stripes, graduating in size from center to edge—similar to the button on top of the box, but with the stripe colors rearranged.

  The remaining button had no match. Half the disc bore polka dots—white on green. Red and white striped the other half.

  I gave him the button that goes with this one.

  When the sweater they adorned became too tattered, and woefully tight, she’d been unable to part with the buttons. She’d dug the little canvas box out of her closet. A stocking gift from an earlier Christmas, it originally held a few pieces of hard candy. She’d applied a few decorative touches and dumped the set of buttons inside.

  She rarely looked at the contents, but she never left Eufala without the button box. Not on field trips with her students. Not on shopping trips in Tulsa with Mimi.

  Why? She had no idea, and refused to invest enough thought in her actions to come up with an answer.

  With a sigh, she slipped the bright discs back into the little box.