The Forest Ranger's Christmas

by Leigh Bale

  Shaking her head, Josie focused on the slick road. Gramps sat bundled in his heavy coat as he gazed out the windshield, subdued and quiet.

  “You did well tonight, Gramps,” she said.

  He made a growling comment in the back of his throat.

  “What was that?” she asked politely.

  “I’m never gonna learn to read.”

  “Of course you are. Don’t be so pessimistic.” She spoke in a buoyant tone, trying to be positive. Trying to mimic Clint’s optimism.

  “I’m too old,” Gramps said.

  “You’re never too old to learn. That’s a fallacy. Instead, why don’t you try to have fun? You’re not alone in this. Clint and I are gonna help. And Gracie, too.”

  No, they weren’t alone anymore. Funny how she’d come to rely on the enigmatic forest ranger so quickly. Without coming on too strong, Clint seemed to know just what to say to steer them toward success.

  The sound of the engine and gushing air from the heater filled the void of silence. Gramps stared out the dark window, his profile etched with vulnerability.

  “You really think so?” he finally asked in a contemplative voice.

  “I know so.” Her heart gave a powerful tug. He needed her strength to face this great hurdle.

  Reaching across the seat, she folded her fingers around his hand, giving him comfort the only way she knew how. “It’s going to be okay, Gramps. I promise.”

  He squeezed her hand and nodded, speaking in a voice roughened by emotion. “Of course it is, muffin.”

  She chuckled, noticing how he squinted as they passed a bright streetlight.

  “Are your eyes hurting you?” she asked.

  “No.”

  But she wondered if he would tell her if they were.

  “I think I’ll make you an appointment to see about getting you a new pair of glasses. We can drive into Bridgeton to see an eye doctor. You’ve used the same reading glasses for years and years,” she said.

  Another grumble emitted from Gramps’s chest.

  Before he could argue, she hurried on. “And I think I’ll make Grandma’s lasagna for dinner tomorrow night. How would you like that?”

  His face brightened just a bit. “Sounds good. I haven’t had Ma’s lasagna since she passed. How long did you say you can stay with me, honey?”

  She glanced in her rearview mirror as she flipped on her blinker and made a right turn. “As long as it takes.”

  “As long as what takes? You didn’t get fired, did you?”

  She whipped her head toward him. “No, of course not. I simply had a lot of vacation time saved up, and I intend to use every bit of it.”

  She needed this break. Had hungered for it, in fact. When the time came, it would be so difficult to go back to her lonely existence in Vegas, but she’d have to. Like everyone else, she had bills to pay. And knowing Gramps wouldn’t be going with her made her feel lonelier than ever.

  * * *

  The moment Josie and Frank stepped into the cultural hall for choir practice on Saturday night, Clint’s senses hiked into overdrive. Standing at the front of the stage with Tom Baker, he cleared his throat, feeling suddenly out of sorts.

  “There you are, Frank. We’ve been running through that new song I told you about.” Carl Wilkins, the director, waved him over.

  Dressed in her winter coat and black fluffy earmuffs, Josie carried a large basket to the front row of the auditorium. Several choir members sitting there greeted her. She smiled and answered their questions, hugging a couple of the women. They were all friends of Frank and Viola Rushton. No doubt Josie knew them from her visits home.

  Her pale skin gleamed in the dim light, radiant and angelic. She lifted the muffs off her head and shrugged out of her coat, revealing a beautiful red sweater beneath. It framed her pale, flawless skin perfectly. Her black jeans fit her legs and hips to perfection. Her clean hair bounced against her shoulders. As she folded her coat and set it aside, her long lashes swept downward. How could a woman have such beautiful, expressive eyes?

  Clint’s throat tightened, dry as sandpaper, and he swallowed. Seeing Josie so feminine and lovely caused his insides to churn, like a long lost memory he couldn’t let go of. He’d almost forgotten the intimacy of being with a woman. The hushed voices and soft kisses in the middle of the night.

  A giddy rush of adrenaline coursed through his veins. He felt like a schoolboy about to ask the prom queen for a dance. Oh, yes. He’d love to ask Josie out on a real date. And then what? What if they fell in love?

  Wearing blue coveralls and a blue flannel shirt, Frank lumbered down the aisle before stepping up onto the stage.

  Carl handed him some sheet music. “Frank, you’ll be singing bass, Tom will sing tenor and Clint will sing baritone. Let’s take it from the top.”

  Clint glanced at Frank, who calmly stared at the pages in his hands. He showed not a single glimmer to indicate he couldn’t read the words before he lowered the sheets. “I’m afraid I forgot my glasses. I can’t read this.”

  Oh, yes. Frank was good at this. He’d spent a lifetime hiding his disability.

  “I’ll help him,” Clint offered.

  Carl nodded at Helen, who sat behind the piano on the side of the stage. When Carl lifted his hands in the air to direct the song, Josie sat up straight, her face creased with concern. She glanced at Clint, her eyes filled with pleading. And without asking, he knew exactly what she was thinking. She didn’t want to reveal Frank’s secret and embarrass him. Neither did Clint.

  They shared a significant look no one else noticed. Clint inclined his head and gave a little calming motion with his hand, offering reassurance the only way he knew how. She sat back, seeming to relax.

  Trusting him.

  “I think it would help if we play through the piece and say the words together just once,” Clint suggested.

  A look of impatience crossed Carl’s face, but he nodded. “Oh, all right.”

  Nodding at Helen, Carl indicated that she should play the music. As the dramatic notes filled the stage, the men spoke the words out loud together, keeping time with the rhythm.

  “Don’t go too fast during the second measure,” Carl interrupted. “This is a reverent song. Almost a lullaby. I want you to sing nice and slow.”

  They began again, the men holding the chords in perfect harmony. And when they finished, a moment of profound silence filled the auditorium.

  “I think I’ve got it” Frank broke the quiet.

  “Good. Let’s take it from the top, then.” Another nod at Helen, and Carl led them through the song twice more.

  By the third time, the song went more smoothly—a beautiful, worshipful piece about the three wise men coming to visit the baby Jesus the night He was born.

  Frank didn’t need to be told the words twice, and Clint silently noted that the man had an amazing memory. Probably a skill he’d gleaned over the years in order to accommodate his illiteracy.

  As he sang, Clint glanced up and saw Josie studying them. Sitting at the front of the audience, she looked up at him. He stuttered and felt suddenly awkward. His voice wobbled and he missed his notes. He’d never felt nervous singing before, but with Josie’s eyes boring into him like a high-speed drill, his hands shook and felt cold and clammy.

  “No, no.” Carl tapped the music stand with his pointed baton. The piano stopped abruptly. “Clint, you need to concentrate on your notes more. You’re off tonight.”

  He certainly was.

  “Sorry. I’ll do better.” He flashed a nervous smile, but inwardly, he was trembling. What was it about Josie that disconcerted him so much?

  They went through the song one more time. Clint refused to look at Josie, which helped him concentrate. It wasn’t perfect, but he made it to the end.

&nb
sp; “Practice at home,” Carl ordered. Then he turned toward the auditorium, where the chorus members sat waiting. “Okay, let’s have everyone come on up and take your places.”

  Josie stood with the rest, looking uncertain as she picked her way among the crowd.

  “Josie!” Gracie ran over and took her hand.

  Smiling widely, Josie leaned down and spoke to the little girl, but Clint couldn’t hear their words. When they came up on stage, Gracie joined the other children, while Josie stood nearby. Clint tried to focus on the director as he told them each where he wanted them situated for the opening number.

  “Thanks for covering for Gramps.” Josie spoke next to him, whispering for his ears alone.

  “You’re welcome. You doing okay?” Clint murmured.

  “Yes, I’m fine.” She glanced at him, clutching her hands together.

  “How did your conversation about moving to Las Vegas go with Frank?”

  “He’s still a bit upset, but I think he’s forgiven me.” She spoke low, her gaze focused on Carl.

  “Did you two work everything out?”

  “He’s not leaving Camlin, if that’s what you mean. But we certainly haven’t worked everything out. I need to find someone to bring in meals for him once I’m gone. He’s been living on oatmeal, cookies and chicken noodle soup.”

  He felt her pain. From the deep creases in her forehead, fretting over her grandfather was starting to take its toll on her.

  “I’ll ask around for you. We’ll find someone. How’s his reading coming along?” Clint asked, trying to hold his sheet music steady.

  “Good. He’s trying hard. In fact, I’m surprised at how fast he’s learning. He’s memorized the alphabet and the sounds each letter makes, and we’ve started putting them together into small words. The flash cards you gave us help a lot.”

  Clint nodded, liking this news. “Have you seen the light bulb flash in his eyes yet?”

  She tilted her head and he caught the tantalizing lemony scent of her hair. “What do you mean?”

  “Usually when people start learning something new, a light clicks on inside of them and it shows in their eyes. It’s like they’re all aglow with happiness.”

  “Hmm, I’ve mostly just seen a lot of frustration and grimaces from Gramps.” She laughed, the sound charming.

  “Don’t worry. It’ll happen soon enough.”

  Clint remembered seeing that light click on in Karen’s eyes when she’d read her first beginner’s book and actually understood the simple story. It had been the highlight of her education, all because she could now read rudimentary words and comprehend them. That was before Gracie was born. Karen had even talked about taking a college course, and he’d encouraged her. But she never did. Her insecurities had gotten the better of her.

  “You don’t know someone in town that I can pay to go in and clean Gramps’s house once a week, do you?” she asked.

  “As a matter of fact, I do. Rachel Burdett cleans my house. Since she lives right across the street from Frank, I’m sure she’d—”

  “Ahem!”

  He looked up. Carl stood at the front of the stage, tapping his foot impatiently as he glowered at them with disapproval. All eyes were trained on them. A couple of men chuckled and nudged each other, while the women tossed Josie knowing glances. Since Clint was a highly eligible bachelor, no doubt they were conjecturing over whether he was interested in Josie. And he was. But not in the way they thought. This was just a friendship, nothing more.

  Clint swallowed and gave an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, Carl. What did you say?”

  “Can you stand over here with Frank and Tom, please? Then you’ll be ready for the wise men number when it’s time.” Carl pointed a stiff finger at the floor.

  Clint tossed a meaningful look at Josie. “We’ll talk about this later.”

  “Okay. Thanks.” She nodded and he stepped away.

  As Carl led the choir through a series of simple Christmas carols, Clint stood beside Frank and sang his parts. From all outward appearances, he was focused on what he was doing. But inside, he felt the thrum of electric shock currents zipping through his arms and legs. He found himself glancing repeatedly at Josie. From his peripheral vision, he was conscious of her every move. Of her innocent expression as she sang the chorus to “Silent Night.” He caught the high, clear melody of her voice during “O Little Town of Bethlehem.” Being near her wasn’t getting any easier.

  * * *

  Clint was watching her again. Josie could feel his eyes on her as she carried her basket of snickerdoodles to the refreshment table following practice. She knew it without looking his way, probably because she’d been watching him, too. Every chance she got. Surreptitious glances when she didn’t think he was looking. Feasting her eyes on his clean-shaven face and slicked-back hair. And she didn’t understand her obsession with the guy. He wasn’t special. Not so unique.

  Who was she kidding? He was gorgeous, kind and wonderful. And hands off for her. He had a child to think about. He wouldn’t be interested in the likes of her.

  Or would he?

  When they’d finished their practice, the choir members headed toward the outer foyer for the cookie exchange. Josie reached inside her basket, lifted out a paper plate filled with soft cookies, and set it on the table. She then carried her basket to the sampling tables, where red and green cloths had been laid out, and chunky pinecones, Christmas ornaments and candles served as centerpieces.

  A dull roar of happy chatter filled the air along with the crisp aroma of cinnamon and cloves. Kids raced among the crowd to attack the refreshments, their mothers calling for them to slow down.

  Josie lifted a silver tray of cookies out of the basket and set it on the table. As she tugged off the plastic wrap, she bumped into someone.

  “Excuse me.” She jerked around and found herself gazing up into Clint’s expressive eyes.

  He stood close. Too close. And she stepped back.

  “Sorry. It’s rather crowded in here.” He gave a nervous laugh.

  She smiled. She couldn’t help it. “Yes it is.”

  “Hi, Josie.” Gracie squeezed between them and snatched up one of her cookies.

  “Hi, sweetie.”

  “Mmm, snickerdoodles. And they’re homemade.” The girl took a big bite.

  Josie brushed her fingers through Gracie’s long blond hair. “Hey, you did a good job tonight singing with the kids’ choir.”

  Her face flushed with pleasure. “Thanks. So did you.”

  As Clint set his offering on the table, Josie glanced at his bag of packaged cookies and arched her brows. “That’s cheating, you know. Store-bought cookies aren’t gonna cut it with this crowd.”

  He gave a sheepish grin. “Yeah, sorry about that. But trust me. You don’t want to eat my homemade cookies.”

  “He burned them.” Gracie crinkled her nose. “And they weren’t really homemade, anyway. They were one of those tubes of cookie dough you buy at the store and bake at home.”

  Josie narrowed her eyes, as though this were a grave insult. “Hmm, so you were gonna try and pass off store-bought cookie dough for your own, huh?”

  Clint’s face flooded with color. He reached over and pulled Gracie close, placing a kiss on her forehead before whispering loudly enough for Josie to hear. “Remember, that was just our secret, sweetheart. You’re not supposed to go around telling everyone.”

  A laugh burst from Josie’s throat. “Well, I must admit, store-bought cookies are good, too.”

  “Not as good as these are.” Gracie held up the half-eaten snickerdoodle before moving on down the table.

  “No more than three cookies,” Clint called after her, and she groaned. He turned back to Josie, not quite meeting her eyes.

  She chuckled. “I’m gla
d to discover you have at least one flaw. I was beginning to think you were perfect.”

  In every single way.

  “Oh, no,” he assured her. “Just ask Gracie. She’d be happy to tell you every one of my faults in great detail.” A wry smile curved his mouth and he shook his head, his face still bright with embarrassment.

  Josie didn’t believe him. From what she’d observed, Clint was the perfect man. It was easy to see why Gracie adored her father. And for three crazy seconds, Josie felt an intense longing to feel his strong arms around her, feel the steady beat of his heart as she rested her cheek against his solid chest. To hear him speak her name with a sigh.

  Stunned by her wayward thoughts, she looked away, her cheeks flaming with a blush.

  “Gracie’s playing the part of an angel in the program,” he said.

  Josie glanced back at him with interest. “Have you made her costume yet?”

  He shook his head, looking mildly concerned. “Last year she was an elf, and Viola made her costume. I’ll have to get someone else to do it this year.”

  Not surprising. Most men were not seamstresses.

  “Why don’t I make it for her?” Josie offered.

  He blinked in surprise. “You know how to sew?”

  “A little bit. Does that surprise you?”

  “Yes,” he confessed.

  “Grandma Vi taught me. Her old sewing machine is still sitting right where she left it, in the back bedroom, and I have the time. I’m sure Helen will help me if I run into difficulty. Besides, it’s a great way to repay you for all the work you’ve done around Gramps’s house.”

  Clint smiled with relief. “That would take a huge load off my mind. I have no idea what marabou trim is, much less how to sew it onto white satin.”

  She chuckled. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of it.”

  Drawing a deep breath, he leaned nearer. “While we have a moment alone, I was wondering if you might also be interested in—”