“Are you mad she left me here?” Layla sniffed. “She said you might be.”
Joseph couldn’t rightly answer that one without hurting her feelings. He was mad his sister felt it was okay to abandon her daughter on his doorstep, because Layla deserved so much better. Why couldn’t Ruth have learned from their parents’ mistakes instead of repeating them? “Are you mad?” he asked to avoid answering.
“I’m not mad. I hurt here.” She crossed her arms over her chest and doubled over.
“I know.” Joseph hugged her to his side. “I know, darlin’.” And he did. The first time he’d been left, he was five years old, contracted out to a homesteader twenty-three miles through the Alaskan wilderness from home. Even at that young age, he’d understood the dangers—bears, wolves, rivers—and he would have starved long before he made it home, so he stayed. Stayed through the first time the grizzly old man had smacked him for dropping a bucket of milk, and all the times thereafter. He remembered that pain, all right. Though Layla wouldn’t ever deal with the physical abuse he had, Joseph wished he could spare her the emotional upheaval Ruth’s departure would cause in the girl’s life.
Reliving awful memories wasn’t going to make things better for his niece. What she needed, what they both needed, really, was to make a new memory—together. One they could smile over for many years to come. “You know what?”
“What?” Her voice was as small as her baby toe poking through a hole in her sock.
“I burnt the turkey.”
The tears fell to her cheeks.
Joseph smiled brightly. “This is a good thing.”
“It is?” She was so quiet, he was sure her heart was falling to pieces.
Doubling his efforts to be cheery, he exaggerated his nodding. “Yep. It means we get to go to town for Thanksgiving dinner.”
Layla wrinkled her forehead, clearly unconvinced that a burnt turkey and a trip to town were going to salvage the holiday.
“See, I can’t make pie. So if we stayed here for dinner, we wouldn’t have dessert.” Joseph stood. Putting a hand on her back, he ushered her to the second bedroom—her room now. “But Trudy makes excellent pies, and she happened to invite us to the café for dinner.”
Not a lie. Trudy ran the Grizzly Café on Main Street. It wasn’t the only place to get a meal in town, but it was the homiest, specializing in down-home cookin’ with lots of butter. Not one to miss an opportunity to socialize, Trudy cooked Thanksgiving and Christmas Eve dinner. Anyone was welcome as long as they donated to the meal. Joseph had two cans of green beans and a can of cranberry jelly he’d be happy to hand over in exchange for a happy atmosphere and a way to distract Layla.
She contemplated this for a moment. “Does she make pumpkin pie? That’s tradition.”
“It’s her specialty.” He smiled as the tears were replaced by tentative acceptance. “Why don’t you find your snow clothes, and we’ll drive over there. You can wear my gloves again.”
“Okay.” Layla moved to the pile of nylon in the corner of the room. She would need some hooks on the wall by the door, a nightstand, and a few toys. Her clothes were all a size too small. There was no sense waiting for Christmas, either. He’d need to rustle up what he could ASAP. “Can we decorate the tree later?”
Joseph stopped mid-shopping list. Of all the lies his mother had told, Christmas was the biggest lie of all. But for Layla … “I’ll think about it.”
Layla considered him from under her stocking hat before nodding solemnly.
“Layla?” Joseph got down to her level and placed a hand on her shoulder. “Today is Thanksgiving, and I am thankful I get to share it with you.” That was a truth—the biggest truth in his heart this day.
A shy smile tugged at her lips. “Me too.”
Though Ruth’s untimely departure had placed a burden on his shoulders, Joseph refused to resent Layla or her needs. The small bag she came with hardly held enough clothing to last to the end of the week, yet he didn’t care. He’d buy her a month’s worth of shirts and pants if it would ease her burden. This little girl deserved everything he could give, and by darn it, he was going to do his best by her. Ruth hadn’t unloaded a chore; she’d handed over a blessing. A blessing Joseph would work hard to deserve. “Come on, let’s get some pie.”
“Are we going there for Christmas too?” Layla asked.
“I don’t know. Why?”
“Because we always have pecan pie on Christmas.”
“Oh.” Joseph glanced at Timber, as if the dog had the answer.
Timber closed his eyes and let out a sigh as if to say, “I’m too old for this.”
“Um, we’ll have to wait and see.”
Layla didn’t press or whine. She slipped on his gloves and pulled her helmet over her head.
Joseph took her silence as acquiescence. They scampered through the afternoon twilight to the shop where he’d parked his snowmobile the night before. It started up easily enough, and they were soon on their way, making new tracks in the freshly fallen snow. Questions plowed through Joseph’s mind as forcefully as his treads plowed through the snow. Not the least of which was, how he was going to avoid the trappings of Christmas with a wide-eyed little girl sleeping in his guest room?
Chapter Five
Ginger traversed the snowy alley between the Trading Post and the Hardware Store to emerge on Main Street Clearview, directly across the street from the Grizzly Café. A dozen snowmobiles were parked out front at odd angles; some of them jutted into the street, which made the two-lane road into a one-lane byway. Instead of adding to the chaos, Ginger chose to park behind the General Store, where she would be less conspicuous.
Owning the patents on hundreds of products—everything from toys to cookware and electronics to fabric—had put the Kringle family in a blessed financial situation. Since most of their needs were met by magic, money accumulated quickly, allowing them to rent a lake house for Ginger and Lux’s stay.
The giant home had large windows that overlooked the lake, five bedrooms and three baths on the upper floor, and a to-die-for kitchen. A small red barn perched thirty paces from the back door. They’d stored the sled and their reindeer inside. Vixen was more than happy to settle into a stall with a manger full of hay and a bunch of straw. He’d always been the least social of the reindeer, preferring to stay close to the barn or fly on his own rather than join in any reindeer games. Having a barn to himself was probably heaven.
Much like Lux. Her older sister was supposed to be her wingman—or wing woman, as the case may be—yet she’d opted out of heading into town first thing. Instead, she was busy turning the lake house kitchen into a command center for tracking all things Christmas Magic. This included Ginger, as Lux had installed a new app on Ginger’s phone that would relay her whereabouts back to Lux’s laptop. When Ginger protested, Lux insisted she needed as much information as possible for her research.
Research, schmesearch. The real research would happen when Ginger checked out the guys on her list. She grinned to herself. Ginger’s List had a nice ring to it.
Now if only she didn’t mimic elfish style in her lime-green parka and fuchsia ski pants. Though the fit was amazing—Ginger actually felt like a girl with the pants sitting just below her natural waist and hugging her hips, and the jacket was snug yet allowed for movement. The material was unlike any Ginger had seen used for outerwear before in the way it stretched like a pair of winter jeggings. Frost said the elves had been working on it for months. She wished they’d worked in subdued colors, the burgundy and pine greens she loved, rather than lollipop hues.
Taking a deep breath, she made her way across the street.
One look up and one look down Main Street gave Ginger the full tour of this Alaskan town. To her left was a hardware store. The display in the front window included everything from chainsaws to bolts of fabric. Beyond that was the post office, a gas station, and a bar named the Watering Hole. To her right was the Trading Post, a grocery and pharmacy rolled into
one. On the other side of the grocery was a clothing store called Jeans ’N’ Things.
The town hall/land office started off the string of businesses on the other side of the street with a house turned doctor’s office next door, though she didn’t bother to read the name above the door. Kringles didn’t get sick.
The Grizzly Café came next, followed by a small white box of a building with a sign in the window that read “Eagle Eye Accounting, Open January 5 through April 30 every year.” Ginger smiled. How would it be to have accountant’s hours?
Fat Jack’s Garage took up thrice as much space as the accountant’s office. A green bay door made up the side wall. In the front window, a puppy stared out, its breath fogging the glass.
At the end of the row was a wood shack called the Tea House. A hand-painted sign informed customers that black coffee was two bucks and a doughnut cost a dollar. Ginger placed her hand over her stomach. She couldn’t fathom eating one more bite of anything at the moment. Not after Mom’s Thanksgiving feast.
Finally, at the top of the street stood a white clapboard church. On the left side was a stage that had seen better days. The wraparound porch and stairs were in good repair. The windows were clean, and the green shutters had a new coat of paint. A sign out front said “Count Your Blessings.”
Ginger was grateful for the reminder, since Thanksgiving dinner had been strained—something that had never happened at the Kringle table before. Stella and Frost were sullen, knowing Ginger and Lux were leaving right after the meal, and Robyn hadn’t spoken to Ginger since the snowflake incident. As if Ginger had made an effort to steal Robyn’s spotlight.
Not only did Robyn leave the table before pie, she refused to come to the stables to see her sisters off. The snub stung, and Ginger was still tender from it when they’d landed on the outskirts of Clearview. Her sisters had been her playmates, her tutors, and her best friends. She hated having something come between them but didn’t know what she could do about it.
Golden light spilled through the café windows. Shadows danced across the snow, giving the quiet street a feel of holidays past. The merry gathering of mostly men inside had Ginger’s stomach sinking like an overloaded sleigh. She must be crazy to venture out on her own. What she needed was a good dose of Stella.
As if on cue, Ginger’s phone rang, and she hurried to answer it. “Stella?” she asked hopefully.
“Sorry, it’s Lux.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. I was just—” Ginger fidgeted with her zipper as she tried to come up with a way to say that she needed a sister who could infuse her with courage. After a moment of hesitation, she gave up and asked, “What’s up?” with a smile.
“Dad sent me the information on your boyfriends—although I think we should call them potential boyfriends, since you haven’t met—but there’s always the possibility of calling them your future husbands—er, husband? Because that’s what this is all about, right? And you can’t have more than one.”
Working to keep the flock of turtledoves flitting about in her stomach under control, Ginger replied, “Lux, why don’t we just call them by their names?”
“Let’s start at the top. Patrick Greggory Scott.”
“Hmmm.”
“What is hmmm?”
“He has three first names.”
“So? You’re named after a spice.”
“So …”
“Robyn’s named after a bird.”
“Yeah, it’s just—”
“I’m named after light, and Stella the stars.”
Before she could add in the origin of Frost’s name—like that wasn’t common knowledge at their house—Ginger jumped in. “So what if he goes by Pat, or Greggory, or Gregg, or Scott? How will I ever pick one?”
There was another one of those pauses that had Ginger wondering how much time she’d actually spent with Lux over the years.
“Christmas could implode, and you’re worried about what to call a guy you haven’t even met yet? You and I are so very different, it’s a wonder we came from the same gene pool.”
“Yeah.” Ginger rubbed her forehead. “I could be a little hysterical right now.”
“I could patch in Robyn. She does hysterical really well.”
Ginger laughed. If Lux could still joke, then Christmas Armageddon was still preventable. If she could just get herself through the front door. “Thanks, but I’m good.”
“Get going, will you? The sooner you meet the future Mr. Kringle, the sooner I can get back to my mainframe.”
If Ginger had learned anything from Julia Roberts and Sandra Bullock movies, it was that the first meeting was hugely important. When things went right, right from the get-go, then the relationship was all golden glows and soft smiles. When the first meeting went wrong, there was a long and sometimes heartbreaking uphill climb before the happy ending.
Squaring her shoulders, Ginger climbed the steps. “I’m going in.”
“Roger that, over and out.” Lux clicked off.
Ginger stared at her phone. Since when had Lux developed a sense of humor? Pushing aside thoughts of her reclusive sister, Ginger reached for the front door.
She must have been more nervous than she let herself believe, because when she reached for the door, a gust of wind shoved it open, slamming it into a man’s face.
He stumbled back, holding his chin. “Whar?”
Shocked, Ginger turned her hands palms up. “The four winds,” she said in astonishment.
“Uncle Joseph!” a young girl cried out, tugging on the man’s elbow and tugging Ginger’s thoughts away from the developing Santa abilities and into the crowded café that had gone Christmas Eve quiet.
Ginger’s good list radar did a whoop-whoop, taking over her actions. Pure of heart and filled with a love for all things Christmas, this kid was Hark the Herald material. Ginger scooped her up into a hug and soaked in her wholesomeness. “I’m so sorry I frightened you, Layla.”
Layla. Ginger marveled that she knew her name. First the four winds and now names. Her wrist tingled.
“That’s okay.” Thin arms encircled Ginger’s neck. “You smell like cookies.”
Ginger laughed. Splaying her hand against the girl’s back, she hugged her tight. Layla returned the gesture. Pulling back, she asked, “Can you tell what kind of cookies?”
Layla’s nose crinkled. “Gingerbread.”
“Yes.” Ginger nuzzled Layla’s nose as she giggled. Filled up to the tip of her slightly upturned nose with the child’s laughter, Ginger marveled at how quickly her nerves had disappeared. In their place was a sense of purpose. Layla, and every child like her, was the reason she was here.
“Ex-cuse me.” Joseph—Layla’s uncle, Ginger surmised—reached for Layla. He blinked several times.
“Oh!” Ginger set Layla on her feet. She’d been so caught up in the magic that she’d forgotten about the door. “I’m so sorry. Can I help you with that?” Stepping closer, she put her hand up to move Joseph’s arm down so she could inspect the damage.
Joseph jerked back at her touch. “Your hands are like ice.”
Ginger had a moment of panic. Where were her gloves? She found them poking out of her pockets. Playing off his comment, she smiled sweetly. “I hadn’t noticed.” She really hadn’t.
Ushering Joseph to the worn wooden bench, she kicked the door shut as he sat down. “Here.” Ginger pulled an emergency ice pack out of her magical Christmas purse—no Kringle left home without one. She popped the inside pouch to cause the chemical reaction, which made the pack instantly cool. Stepping right up next to him, she pressed it to Joseph’s chin, cupping the back of his head with her other hand to make sure he held still. His hair was silky and thick against her palm. Her gaze traveled from his bearded chin, over a set of perfectly plump lips, a straight nose, and a pair of intense blue eyes gazing up at her with curious wonder.
Ginger’s stomach did a tornado dance and the blood rushed to her head, leaving her knees awfully weak. She leaned into
Joseph for support.
“Thanks,” he said in a low voice, the kind of inviting voice that had Ginger leaning closer to hear him. This time, he didn’t back away, which made it all the harder for Ginger to concentrate. She took a deep breath and found that Joseph smelled of soap and pine needles and burnt turkey of all things.
“I think I’m going to be okay.” Joseph pulled her hand and the accompanying cold pack away from his chin.
“I’m glad to hear it.” Ginger smiled shyly as she continued to gaze into Joseph’s becoming eyes. She twirled her fingers though his hair, and he shivered.
“Miss?”
“Yes?”
“I’m going to get up now.”
“Okay.”
A smile played at his lips. “So I need you to let go …”
Ginger dropped her hand and backed two steps away. With the distance came a rush of embarrassment. She’d never initiated such familiarity with a man before. But she couldn’t seem to help herself. Joseph was …
As Joseph came to his feet, her eyes travelled up and up and up his lean and well-built body to the top of his six-foot-one frame.
Crumpets.
Layla tugged on Ginger’s hand. “Are you here for Thanksgiving dinner too?”
Ginger had eaten so much her pants cut into her middle. “No.”
Layla’s face fell.
“Are you lost?” asked Joseph.
“Of course not.” Ginger scoffed. “Kringles don’t get lost.” But they can do some pretty amazing things. She twirled her fingers, feeling a soft breeze dance across her palm. So cool! And the way she’d connected with Layla in an instant—amazing! And Joseph’s steel-blue eyes—wowza!
“What’s your last name?” Ginger asked, thinking of the list in her pocket.
“Bear.”
“Bear?” Ginger made claws with her hands. “As in grrrr?”
Layla giggled, but Joseph wasn’t amused. “Yes. As in grr.”
Ginger’s cheeks heated up. Look at that, a Kringle could feel the difference between hot and cold—all it took was a heavy dose of humiliation. Joseph’s name wasn’t on her list. How … disappointing. She tossed the cold air from her palm into her face and turned to find a room full of men staring at the trio.
Ginger (Marrying Miss Kringle) Page 4
