Stormy set one plate in an empty space on the counter. "From your grandma," she said to Tara. "She said you need to eat before you go out in the cold looking for a tree. You're too skinny. You don't have enough meat on your bones to fend off hypothermia."
Tara shook her head. "Eat, Santa, eat!"
Stormy smiled. "Margie's words, not mine." Stormy breezed past to deliver the other plates.
"Tell her I have to catch a man before I can fatten up."
Stormy was obviously busy, so Tara went around behind the counter as Rick took the last available seat. She grabbed the coffee pot and a cup. "Coffee? On the house."
"I never refuse free coffee."
"How's Bob doing these days? He hasn't retired, has he?" Tara poured a cup for Rick and then went the length of the counter refilling coffee cups. When she was finished, she grabbed a mug and poured herself a cup before taking a bite of eggs and tasting the lovely, dark pancakes before her. Gingerbread. Definitely gingerbread. What as next? Eggnog waffles?
Ranger Bob had been her favorite ranger when she was a kid. He'd once rescued her when a scavenging brown bear had gotten between her and the lodge. The bear, that scoundrel, had been looking for garbage, knocking over cans and foraging when she'd happened upon it as she came back from an early morning run.
Bob had always asserted the bear wouldn't have hurt her, but you never can tell with wild bears. Then there was the time he'd rescued two treed bear cubs.
"Bob, retire? Never," Rick said as Tara returned to his end of the counter. "But he's more of an office guy now than he used to be. His knees aren't up to the forest terrain."
Rick eyed the pie case, which Gram had already stocked with fresh pumpkin, apple, pecan, and apple-cranberry pies.
"I suppose you'd like pie, too," Tara said. "Still an apple pie man?"
Rick laughed as she cut him a slice and placed it in front of him as the door flew open again and a cold December wind kissed her cheeks. Her heart pounded as she looked up expecting to see Ryan.
Rick caught her expression. "Expecting someone?" His tone made it clear he was razzing her. He knew very well who she was looking for.
She hated that she was so obvious and everyone seemed to know her business. Just like in the old days.
But the newcomer wasn't Ryan. Instead, an attractive blue-eyed man in a ski beanie and The Mountain Bread Company jacket dusted himself off with one hand as he balanced a plastic delivery tray filled with gourmet breads in the other. Tara didn't recognize him, but then she didn't recognize a lot of people these days.
Tara excused herself and went to greet him. Deliverymen usually came in the side delivery entrance to the kitchen. And anyway, what had happened to the steadfast, gummy, generic white-bread delivery guy?
"May I help you?"
"You are?" he said with a certain amount of hesitance.
Tara held out her hand. "Tara. I'm Margie and Harry's granddaughter."
"Ah," he smiled. "Keith Scott. I brought Margie's first order by. Ryan told me Margie wanted it in time for the lunch crowd. She has some new sandwich recipes she wants to use it for."
No doubt using Ryan's salad dressing for that cookbook Gram was so pleased about. Gingerbread pancakes. Gourmet sourdough and pugliese bread. All Ryan's idea.
As Tara directed Keith to the kitchen, she noticed he wasn't wearing a ring. Automatic ring checks came naturally to a single woman. She noticed Stormy shooting the new bread man a look and doing the ring-check thing, too.
As she watched the bread man head to the kitchen, the bell over the door jingled again. She turned around to see who'd just arrived, only to find herself staring directly into Ryan's broad chest. Since that embarrassing display her first night back, she'd recognize that coat anywhere. She looked up, into his intense gaze.
Staring into Ryan's eyes had once been like gazing into a flattering mirror. Now the reflection of herself there was less complimentary. Or maybe it was just that his opinion of her was masked. Still, she found herself mesmerized. Why hadn't he gotten old and fat, like he had in her fantasies? Why did he still have to be the Ryan that made her heart race, despite its better judgment?
"You make a habit of hanging out beneath the mistletoe so you can kiss all the men who come in?" He pointed to the offending foliage above her head.
She was standing so close she could smell his cologne and see the shadow of dark stubble on his cheeks. One tiny slip and she'd be in his arms. It went against all reason, but she had to restrain herself from reaching out and caressing his jaw and cheeks, pink from the cold. From taking advantage of that mistletoe and kissing him, warming up his blue lips and icy heart. What was it about this man that made her insides turn to mush and her good sense abandon her?
Once, he'd been her strongest ally. Now she wasn't sure what he was, friend or foe.
Tara stepped back out of mistletoe range and reminded herself to take that stupid mistletoe down and throw it in Carter's fire when he wasn't looking. "No more than you make a habit of standing beneath it as you come in and brush off. I hope this isn't your new method of picking up women. And you're late."
Ryan glanced at his watch. "By whose time? I'm five minutes early by mine."
"Your watch must be off."
"It's an atomic watch. You're the one who's always setting her watch ahead so she won't be late."
She ignored him, even though he was right. And she was even later. She still had to finish her breakfast.
"Ready to go?" Ryan said as he looked around. "Where's Harry?"
"That's the question of the day." Tara walked back to the counter and grabbed her plate of breakfast. "I was just going to ask Gram."
She left him to chat with Rick as she went to the kitchen, eating her pancakes on the way, and trying to calm the restless, lusty urges Ryan stirred in her.
Gram was elbow deep in flour and dough as she finished the last of the morning pies, looking like she was Mrs. Claus in the midst of a baking rampage. She even had flour on her nose. She was icing her famous frosted apple-raisin pie. "Ah, Tara, there you are. Good, you're eating your breakfast. What do you think of the new pancakes?"
"Delicious." Tara watched Margie with suspicion. Gram seemed just a little too nonchalant. Like she had another holiday surprise up her sleeve. Gram was beginning to remind her of an advent calendar—you never knew what surprise the door of the day was going to reveal. "Ryan's here. We're ready to go. Where's Grandpa?"
Gram swirled the pie on her open hand as she ran the knife along it, smoothing the icing without looking up at Tara. "Grandpa's down in the back today, sweetie. He told me to tell you the keys to the Bobcat are on their regular hook and to have fun."
Tara stared at her grandmother. Yes, Harry's bad back was notorious for acting up. When Harry didn't want to do something and needed an excuse to get out of it. Most of the time it healed pretty quickly when the fish started biting. But this felt more like one of her grandmother's setups. She decided to call her bluff. "Maybe I should check in on him before we go—"
"Oh, no need. He's sleeping. Leave him be. The keys are on the rack. Have fun, sweetie, and tell Ryan to drive safely."
"Wait a minute—what makes you think I'm going to let Ryan drive the Bobcat?"
"Oh, let the boy drive, Tara. He has more experience on these snowy roads than you do." Gram tried to brush her nose off with her wrist and simply succeeded in adding more flour. At least it gave a new meaning to powdering her nose. "There's a thermos of coffee over there for you. Don't forget it."
8
The Bobcat compact utility vehicle was an open-air two-seater reminiscent of a small Jeep. Harry had equipped it with a brush guard, a seventy-two-inch snowplow blade, a gun boot, a powered lift rear cargo box, a plastic canopy, and all-terrain tires. And then he'd declared he'd spent enough money on it and refused to buy the canvas cab that would have made it just that much warm and cozier on cold winter days.
Ryan backed it out of the garage and waited for Tara to cli
mb in. He handed her a lap blanket to snuggle under. "This will be fun. Like a sleigh ride."
Tara shot him a sideways glance. "It would be more fun if I got to drive." It still irritated her that Harry trusted Ryan more than her with his prized Bobcat.
Ryan lowered the blade and plowed their way out of the driveway and up the main road. Rick had been right. A good five to six fresh inches of snow had fallen overnight. But the sun was shining now. It carried no warmth, a lot like Tara's relationship with Ryan, but did light up the world into a beautiful winter wonderland of frost and snow and sparkle. The world was almost bright enough to lift the darkest spirits, like hers. Tara was feeling set up. Again.
There were few cars on the road. They puttered along, plowing as they went in silence.
Finally, Tara couldn't take the dead quiet any longer. "What do you know about Keith the bread man?"
"Excuse me?"
He wasn't fooling anyone with his innocent act. Especially her. And she knew he wasn't hard of hearing.
"The new bread man at the lodge, the one who stopped by with a selection of breads for Gram to try out for her cookbook."
"Oh, that Keith."
"Yeah, wiseass, that Keith." She stared at him with her "pin him to the wall" gaze.
Sadly, he seemed unfazed by it.
"We studied food science together. When I decided to move back to Echo Bay I convinced him the area was ripe for a fine bakery. After all, nothing goes with a gourmet salad like a delicious hunk of bread."
Tara studied him. "So you are to blame. I knew it. You with your nefarious plan to use the addictive powers of freshly baked bread in your quest for world domination. Or at least, to take over the lodge."
"All I did was make the introductions."
She rolled her eyes. "I'll thank you to stop sending new deliverymen my way."
Ryan gave her a sidelong look. "I don't recall sending anyone your way, least of all unsuspecting deliverymen. Who knows what you might do to them beneath the mistletoe. I recommended Keith to friends who could put his goods to good use."
Friends. Even though she was game for a fight with him, that was a low blow. Like using her board for his waxing clinic. "What about those gingerbread pancakes Kathleen has suddenly put on the menu?"
"I might have mentioned something about mixing things up a bit with a seasonal menu. I am a decorated food science expert who works for a successful food company. There are people who pay good money for my help." His tone was light, almost teasing.
Uh-huh, she thought. Though he was right. And maybe she should have thanked him, would have thanked him for helping her grandparents, if he hadn't had ulterior motives.
Ryan turned off the main road onto a tiny forest service cow path barely wide enough for the Bobcat.
Tara spent the next ten minutes jouncing and dodging low-hanging brush that seemed determined to slap at her through the Bobcat's brush cage. At last, Ryan pulled into an open meadow. Tara spotted Rick's ribboned stand of Christmas trees on the far side of the meadow.
Ryan lifted the plow blade and took the Bobcat off road to the edge of the small stand of trees. "Here we are."
He jumped out and headed for them without either helping her out or waiting for her.
Not to be outdone, or left behind, Tara threw off the lap robe and jumped out after him. He was already standing with his hands on his hips surveying the first tree by the time she reached him.
The sight of him—broad shoulders, confident, wide stance, narrow waist evident even beneath his coat—nearly took her breath away. The way he looked sent her heart racing. Lust is a fickle thing. If this is just lust and not something more.
The whisper of the breeze in the trees carried the scent of pine and Christmas. Small wisps of blowing snow swirled throughout the forest to the tune of snow sliding off branches as firs and pines shed their heavy white burden. The crisp air deep in her lungs felt invigorating in a way she'd forgotten.
And the glade, this glade, so familiar. She bit her lip and looked around her as realization dawned. The old familiar trees had grown taller, and new ones had sprung up. Snow covered the landscape, but the landmarks of years ago—the slope of the hills, the breathtaking view of the mountain and lake beyond, that big, old boulder where she and Ryan used to sit and neck—were still evident.
Déjà vu is an unsettling, unjust, sneaky, perverse emotion. She gaped at Ryan and was transported, involuntarily feeling like the young, hot, in-love Tara of over ten years ago. The Tara who'd had fire running in her veins rather than cold, competent ice.
That last Christmas, this is where Ryan took me to look for a tree.
Chad had bailed on them, saying he had to work. So Ryan and Tara had gone for the tree alone. Here, in this very glen. Tara gave Gram points for wiliness and cunning. The woman should join the CIA. This was a very clever setup. Gram had even involved Ranger Rick.
Tara came up behind Ryan, clenching her fists to resist the urge to put her arms around him. This wasn't old times. This was now.
"I like this one," he said without looking at her.
"You know the drill," she said. "We can't pick the very first tree we see. This is a no-regrets operation. We have to judge them all."
He shrugged and the games began. They circled the little glade, eyeing the trees Rick had marked for them as seriously as if they were in charge of procuring the White House Christmas tree.
"I like this one." Ryan had stopped in front of one that Tara judged to be about eight feet tall and pulled out his tape measure.
Very smart, Ryan. She gave him mental Boy Scout points for being prepared. She had a tape measure in her pocket, too. Never trust the eye when judging heights.
Tara came over to inspect it, standing just behind him and peering over his shoulder. Was he kidding? Or simply goading her?
"You're crazy. See that hole? Unacceptable. From where it will sit in the lodge, the tree will be viewed from every angle." She pointed to the offending lack of branches. "Don't bother measuring it."
Ryan cocked his head and pursed his lips. "I like it. It's not such a bad little tree. You can fill it with ornaments. With a little love—"
"And Linus's blanket. Who are you? Charlie Brown? And what have you done with the real Ryan?" She shook her head.
"Well, I'm not going for a shiny aluminum Christmas tree if that's what you mean."
"Keep looking." She moved on to another tree in the stand. "This one would be nice if the trunk wasn't crooked."
The next one looked too dry. Another was too flat on one side. She'd soon rejected all of Rick's trees. She was beginning to wonder if Rick had somehow set them up, too. "What was Rick thinking?"
"I see you haven't lost your exacting standards." His tone wasn't exactly complimentary, though it did have a tease to it. "With a little love and attention, any of these will do. Their imperfections are the beauty of them. They're real, not manufactured like trees from farms that city people get. And that's what our guests want."
Our guests? A slip of the tongue? She let the comment slide and turned her back to him as she put her hands on her hips and looked up at the tree, trying to see what Ryan saw in it. "I'm not exacting, just discriminating. The Christmas tree is the focal point of the Christmas décor—"
A wad of snow struck her in the back of the shoulder. "Ouch!"
She spun around to face Ryan as she brushed the remnants of a snowball off her coat. He innocently had his back to her as if someone else had chucked that snowball at her.
She reacted without thinking—reached down, scooped a handful of snow, packed it into the most compact snowball she could form, and let if fly using her fastball snap. Back in the day, she could pitch a softball fifty miles an hour. Yeah, she meant to show him.
The snowball hit Ryan square between the shoulder blades. He let out an oomph! then jolted dramatically and threw his arms in the air, looking like a character in a video game. He was such a ham.
She started laughing.
/> He spun around. "Hey! What was that for?"
"What was that for?" She wasn't usually a violent woman, but she had been aching to lash out at him since she'd arrived. A little harmless, all-in-good-fun physical violence felt good. "Me? You fired the first shot." She pointed to the remnants of snow on her coat. "I was just defending myself. But if you must know, that was for that stupid cookbook you're encouraging Gram to make."
"What are you talking about? Why would I throw a snowball at you?"
Back in their adolescent days, teasing her, throwing snowballs at her, tickling her, and dumping her in the lake had been his way of flirting. Maybe he hadn't learned a new technique. She shrugged. "Why would you bring me to this particular part of the forest?" She pelted him with another snowball and grinned.
He ducked, and in a twinkling, made a snowball and returned fire. Ryan had played baseball in high school and had quite the arm on him. He hit her square in the chest. On purpose. Ryan had always had an obsession with her breasts. "That's for coming back and causing trouble for me at work."
"Bastard!" She whomped him with another snowball. "That's for suggesting gingerbread pancakes!" Tara ducked behind a dry tree for cover while she made more ammo.
Ryan tore out after her. She made a good run for it, but he caught her in the thigh with a shot that stung as she darted between trees.
"That's for interrupting my board-waxing workshop."
She fired back. "That's for stealing my ideas for the lodge before I could implement them."
Ryan turned sideways and took the hit to his shoulder, still charging after her with a handful of snow. Ryan had always been fast—faster than her, anyway. And as sure footed as a mountain goat.
She ran and slipped. He caught her around the waist from behind, kindly arresting her fall before stuffing snow down her collar as she twisted to get away. Ryan could always outmuscle her. He didn't let go. She only managed to twist herself around until she faced him in his arms beneath a towering white pine.
Christmas Duet: A Big City, Small Town Christmas Romance Bundle Page 23
