“You mean she said yes?” Hank asked incuriously.
Joseph had the decency to feel offended on Scooter’s behalf. Scooter was a farmer and a decent mechanic. Of course, most guys up here were good with an engine. You had to be to keep things running, since there weren’t supply stores on every corner. If a machine broke down, you could be weeks waiting for a part.
“Oh yeah, they’re goin’ to the café on Thursday for a roast beef dinner.” Rip sounded right proud of his friend.
Hank groaned. “Who’s gonna top that? Trudy’s roast beef is the best meal in town.”
Hank was right. Scooter wasn’t fooling around or leaving room for another guy to upstage him. Taking Ginger for roast beef was a smooth move on his part. One Joseph would be hard pressed to top.
Joseph pressed the bridge of his nose between his fingers and reminded himself that he was not in the Ginger fan club, didn’t want to be in the club, and couldn’t care less who Ginger dated.
Despite the reminder, he studied over the suitors in his head.
He could see why she’d refused Quik—he’d gone right to homesteading without a thought to courtship. That was his big mistake. Ginger wasn’t the type of girl you shack up with—or next to, as the case may be. She was refined, dignified, with an air of importance about her. Yet she wasn’t stuck up. On the contrary, the only person she’d treated with more respect than him or Quik was Layla. There was a soft spot in Ginger’s heart for kids—or maybe it was just his niece. The girl had a way of bringing out the tender side in him; why not Ginger too?
Scooter was a whole other type of guy from Quik. Scooter was taking Ginger out on the town. Surely he’d spoil her with some kind of bouquet—not that there were flowers around. If it were Joseph, he’d give her a bouquet of pine boughs with a bright gold ribbon.
Suddenly ornery, Joseph picked up his chisel and headed towards the double rocker. Made out of light pine, he’d envisioned the piece on a front porch, a place where a couple could snuggle up and watch the Northern Lights. Though the workmanship was some of his finest, the piece needed something to set it apart. A unique carving unlike the others he’d made and sold. Something so intricate, it would take his complete concentration and leave no room for Ginger What’s-her-last-name and those beautiful rose-colored lips.
Chapter Twelve
Ginger stood at the bottom of the small pathway and stared at the doctor’s office. Once upon a time, it must have been a house, because if it weren’t for the sign hanging over the front door, she wouldn’t have known it was a place of business.
Two stories tall, the building had been painted pine green—one of her favorite colors—and trimmed out with white shutters and a white door.
Standing here on what felt like the brink of history, Ginger was more nervous than she could ever remember. Even more so than the time she had to man the candy cane machine for Roxy, the head candy elf, and the red came out purple and the green came out yellow and she had to explain her mistake to the candy-thermometer-exact elf.
Thankfully, Robyn had flounced in and gushed over the colors. Her excitement had taken Roxy off the rampage, and now they offered candy canes in several different colors and even expanded to flavors such as piña colada and banana. That was back when Robyn was solidly in Camp Kringle. When she was the best biggest sister ever—the kind you make caramel popcorn balls with and giggled as you licked the bowl.
Ginger didn’t have her sisters with her to back her up now. Robyn had become her estranged relative, not answering texts, emails, or the old-fashioned letter. Lux was holed up in the lake house, more worried about Christmas Magic than her sister’s nerves. Of course, to give Lux credit, she fully believed in Ginger’s ability to make this happen. She just didn’t feel the need to be here when it did. Stella and Frost had the December schedule to deal with. This was on Ginger, and she felt every ounce of the responsibility.
Shaking the candy canes out of her thoughts, Ginger called Lux. “I’m just about to go in.” No need for hellos when things were this tense on both ends of the line. Though the tension was for totally different reasons. Lux hoped this meeting would produce a spike like they’d never seen before and she could head home for Christmas, secure in the knowledge that Ginger would romance the good doctor into a happy ever after for both her and Christmas. Ginger hoped her pulse didn’t spike hard enough to give her a heart attack.
“Okay, it’s been holding steady all morning. Go get him.”
“Yeah.” Ginger hung up and continued to stare at the white and blue front door. Easier said than done. “Oh, Tannenbaum!”
Upon closer inspection, the sign above the door read, “Patrick Greggory Scott, PhD. Come on in!”
“Seems friendly enough.” Ginger took him at his sign and walked herself right into a small waiting area with three chairs and a desk stained the same color as the dark wood floor. The chairs were occupied by two women and a man, none of which seemed like they belonged together. They offered polite I was here first smiles.
The walls were sea foam green and the trim white—much like the exterior of the house.
The doctor must really like green.
A wreath hung in the front window, sporting a large red and gold bow, the only Christmas decoration in the small space.
Behind the desk was a white-haired receptionist. Her half-moon spectacles dangled from a gold chain around her neck. Her Rudolf sweater was absolutely awful. Ginger liked her immediately—she could spot a believer from a half mile away, and Janie fit the bill.
“Well, hello. You must be Ginger Brinkly,” she said as she turned off the radio behind her desk.
“Must I?” Ginger asked, letting the last name bumble slip by. Getting her name right was the least of her worries right now.
“I’d know you anywhere after listening to Scooter go on and on about you to Doc Scott.”
Peanut butter fudge. “Ya don’t say.” Ginger tucked her hair behind her ear. She hoped Scooter had had a chance to clear out before she arrived. Asking out a man when your Thursday night date watched would be awkward, to say the least.
“The doc could hardly get him to sit still.”
Wanting to derail this conversation as quickly as possible, Ginger said, “Speaking of the doc, is he around?”
“Of course.”
Ginger was about to ask if she could see him when he was suddenly there. Dark, wavy hair that fell lightly across his forehead and brushed his collar, golden-brown eyes that brought to mind delicious thoughts of caramel and chocolate, and a tall frame complete with broad shoulders and a slim waist—the doc was hot.
Measure that heart palpitation on your computer, Lux!
“Ginger Higgins, I presume.” Patrick Greggory Scott held out his hand.
“Everyone knows my name.” She giggled embarrassingly. Biting her lip, Ginger decided it didn’t matter what people thought her last name was now—because if all went well, she’d be changing it to Scott in no time. “Nice to meet you.” She held out her hand to shake his.
Patrick Greggory Scott shook her hand and jerked back. “Your hands are really cold. Do you have frostbite?” He gently took her fingers and examined her perfectly pink skin.
Ginger kicked herself for forgetting to put on her gloves after talking on the phone. She really needed to wrap her head around that. “I’m fine, it’s cold.” Wow—way to dazzle the guy with your wit and intelligence. It’s cold outside, Captain Obvious.
“Your reputation precedes you,” said the doc as he signed the papers Janie placed in front of him.
“It does?” Ginger mentally smacked herself. Try saying something original. It was just hard to think with him rubbing her hands between his as if he could warm her up. The effort was sweet, even if the results were lost on her.
“Scooter said you were as pretty as a meadow of wildflowers in the summertime, and he was right.”
Blushing furiously, Ginger ducked her head. “That’s very kind of you—ah, of both of you.”
“What can I do for you today?” Patrick Greggory Scott asked, still holding both her hands.
Ginger glanced at the receptionist’s eager face. Her first plan had been to ask the doctor out. Just jump right in and be brave like Scooter. Faced with the moment, she decided she needed a little more time to warm to the subject. Especially since all three waiting patients were staring at her too.
Plan B? “I’ve, um, I’ve got a pounding in my head …” She trailed off. The need to ask him out was pounding around in her brain, so that wasn’t a lie. If only the noise came with advice on just how to go about it. She was mucking this up big time.
Patrick Greggory Scott stroked his chin. “How often do you get them?”
“Not too often.” Ginger replied. She wished he’d take her into a room and leave the nice—although somewhat nosy—receptionist out of this discussion. If she could just get him alone, she could flirt a little and maybe he would ask her out. But she couldn’t flirt in front of Janie! Or Brad or Sue or Terry sitting along the far wall. Still. Staring!
“When was your last cycle?” asked the doc.
Ginger felt her eyes bug out. “My what?”
“Your cycle?” Patrick Greggory Scott lectured, completely at ease talking about menstrual issues—Ginger’s issues—in a waiting room full of people.
Brad flushed purple. Purple as plums. Terry tipped her head, waiting for the answer. And Sue, Sue leaned forward unabashedly eavesdropping.
Ginger landed in a heaping pile of embarrassment, the stench wrinkling her nose like reindeer droppings. Though she had five sisters who shared all sorts of female woes with one another, she didn’t have any experience talking about such things with men while men were in the room. Oh sure, doctors probably covered this stuff all day long. Didn’t he just get back from delivering a baby?
Discussing her monthly was the last subject Ginger anticipated, and it sent her already scattered approach to dating the doctor into clumsy territory. You’d think I’d never done this before.
Of course she’d asked out guys before. And she’d gotten positive responses. She needed to nip this in the bud before it rocketed to the next level. Like a full exam. Shoot me now. “I am sorry. I’ve obviously interrupted your schedule.” She waved at the eyewitnesses to her worst attempt at flirting since she was fourteen years old. “I’ll come back another time.” She took a step back, expecting him to let go of her hands.
He advanced with her, his eyes thoughtful. “It could be stress. Are you under a lot of pressure at work or home?”
“You have no idea,” Ginger mumbled.
“Taking time for yourself is as important as everything else you do.” The doc kept talking, and Ginger kept retreating until her heel connected with something solid.
Finally! The door. “You know, that’s a good point. I think I’ll just head home and see if things get better on their own.” And hide under the covers and never come out. Pulling her hands free, she slipped outside and immediately shut the door behind her, Ginger sagged against it.
Doctor Patrick Greggory Scott was one fine-looking medical practitioner, and unfortunately Ginger hadn’t felt anything more than embarrassment in his presence. Sure, if she had a year—or two!—she might be able to get past this unfortunate first meeting, but she didn’t have that kind of time. Patrick Greggory Scott may have been the best guy on the list, and Ginger screwed it all up.
She really needed a cookie.
Thoughts of Joseph and Layla had her jogging toward her snowmobile. She was suddenly in need of some serious baking therapy. At least she could count on Joseph to keep his distance and not ask questions of a highly personal nature. He was the type of man she could work alongside and not have to say anything at all, which was exactly what the doctor ordered.
*
Ginger took a deep breath before knocking on the rustic front door. She liked the grizzly bear carved into the thick wood. The workmanship was so fine that she could imagine the bear crossing the valley in the spring, hungry and grumpy. Smiling, because the bear on the door reminded her a lot of the Bear who lived behind it, she knock-knock-knocked again.
When no one answered, she stepped back and considered the front of the house. Most of the smaller cabins she’d passed on her way here had wreaths or red bows on their doors. Joseph’s house was void of all holiday cheer. No lights. No garlands. No anything jolly. What an awful way to spend the holidays.
The sound of a power sander cut through the air and her thoughts. Ginger headed right for the outbuilding, hoping she wasn’t intruding but as determined as ever to spend some Christmas time with Layla. Having grown up in a house where holiday decorations were up all year long, Bing Crosby crooned on summer nights as often as he did in the winter, and fudge and candied nuts occupied Easter baskets, Joseph’s barren house was a bit unsettling.
Perhaps, with his niece around and the busy workload, Joseph hadn’t gotten to decorating quite yet. She decided to give him the benefit of the doubt.
“Hello?” she called as she got closer, the word echoing off the hills. The sander continued to hum. Feeling as though she were stepping where few dared to go, Ginger cracked the door and slipped inside.
Not a wood shaving stirred, and she silently thanked her Santa abilities to control the four winds and keep a breeze from announcing her arrival.
Layla was in the far corner, a set of crayons scattered across the child-sized table. Her concentration was admirable. There was a rolling door to allow machines into the workshop, like the snowmobile parked to her left. And the tools! Ginger hugged herself at the sight of them as she moved deeper into the room. Everything from a chainsaw to chisels had a place. The tools themselves gleamed, indicating that Joseph cared for them and kept rust away. The rough plank flooring was dusted with sawdust and wood chips. Taking in a deep breath, Ginger enjoyed the scent of fresh-carved wood, stain, and earth, so familiar that she felt right at home.
Smiling, she watched Joseph bend to the task at hand. The cords in his forearms rippled as he passed the sander over the back of the bench. Wait, not a bench, a rocker! And what a stunning rocker it was, having been assembled with such care and talent. A seat made for lovers—wide enough to sit two, yet small enough that they’d be close and comfortable. She could imagine spending many happy evenings in a chair such as this with Joseph. With a start, for she should not be thinking of him in such a way, she stepped back and kicked a table, causing the contents to rattle.
“Ginger!” Layla exclaimed. She left her small chair and ran right into Ginger’s hug.
Squeezing the girl close, Ginger smiled at her frowning uncle. Ginger chose to ignore his dour mood in favor of hanging on to the serenity this space provided. “Are you ready to bake cookies?”
“Yes!” Layla shoved a section of hair out of her eyes. Ginger gave her a quick once-over. She was dressed and clean, but no one had brushed through her hair before securing it in a low ponytail. She’d have to remedy that.
“Are you coming too?” Layla asked Joseph.
Rubbing the back of his neck, Joseph hemmed and hawed. “I have a lot of work out here.”
Joseph’s reluctance wasn’t a surprise. He hadn’t exactly been happy when she invited herself over—more like reluctantly outnumbered. Yet she had to give him credit for not putting up a fuss. She could also give him credit for his woodworking talent. And if she was honest, baking with Layla would be much easier if Joseph wasn’t there. He was much too attractive to ignore completely, and after this morning’s debacle, she wasn’t sure she could be trusted around men for a time. “I don’t want to take you away from what you need to do. We’ll be fine.” As Layla put her coat on, Ginger pointed to the rocker. “You have an amazing talent. Even my grandpa would be impressed.”
“Is your grandpa a woodworker?” For the first time since she’d met him, Joseph’s grouchy mask slipped.
“Yes.” She smiled. “I used to spend hours in his workshop. He’d carve small animals for m
e—I think I have an ark’s worth back home.” She took in a deep breath, letting the smell of pine and machine oil take her back to a simpler time. A time when things seemed perfect, and the occasional tears could be banished with the comforting sound of Grandpa’s deep timbre.
“Is he still around?” asked Joseph.
“In a manner of speaking—he retired and whisked Grandma off to Mexico. It was her dream to live somewhere in the sun.” She looked up into Joseph’s steel-blue eyes and was surprised at the interest and compassion she found there. A connection sparked between them—mysterious and mystifying.
“You miss him,” he stated, bewildered, as if he was surprised he could see that in her.
“At times, very much.” Which was something she’d hadn’t divulged to her sisters, her parents, and especially not her grandfather. She’d kept the majority of her sadness close because she hadn’t wanted him to feel badly about moving, hadn’t wanted to guilt him onto staying at the North Pole even though his move had been quite the trial for her little girl heart. “His shop was my oasis.” Ginger took a step towards him at the same time he moved towards her.
“This place is mine.”
“I can see why.”
He reached out as if to touch her arm, causing Ginger’s heart to pound loud enough to drown out a sander. The feel of his hair against her palm came to mind as their bodies drew closer. She wanted to reach for him.
“I’m ready,” announced Layla from the doorway.
Joseph quickly turned away.
Ginger approached Layla at the door in her coat, hat, gloves, and a bit of impatience, on wobbly knees. “We’ll see you in a bit,” she said to Joseph.
“I’ll be out here if you need anything.” He wiped sawdust off the bench.
“Okay,” Ginger said, though her boots were anchored to the floor by what had transpired only moments before. Considering the confident set to Joseph’s shoulders and the sense of serenity that surrounded him, she wondered if she’d imagined the whole thing. Shaking off the chain of thought, she chalked the overwhelming sense of belonging up to having shared her childhood memories and the feelings of familiarity and serenity the woodshop resurrected. Finally able to lift her feet, she followed Ginger outside. “Bye,” she called over her shoulder.
Ginger (Marrying Miss Kringle) Page 10
