Lena’s Lucky Charm: Love in Holiday Junction, Book 2

by Franklin, Tami

  “I'm sorry to hear that.” Lou climbed down off the stepstool she was standing on. “Do you think we should back off?”

  Her daughter thought about that for a moment. “I'm not sure,” she said, stabbing a tack into a stubborn corner of the rainbow. “I don't want to push her if she's uncomfortable, but at the same time, I kind of think she's halfway to liking Gage already.”

  “You do?” Lou held the chair as Vi reached up to adjust the top of the rainbow, then helped her down. “Did she say something?”

  “No, not in so many words,” Vi replied. “It's just a feeling I got as she talked about him. She's drawn to him, but isn't sure she should be.”

  “Hmm,” Lou said, tapping a finger against her lips thoughtfully. “Braden said something similar about Gage, actually.”

  “Really?”

  Lou smirked. “I believe Chelsea said his exact words were, ‘The guy has it bad, and he doesn’t even realize how bad he has it. Or he doesn’t want to realize it.’”

  “They’re both pretty oblivious,” Vi said.

  “And stubborn.”

  Vi hummed in agreement. “We have to be careful with Lena,” she said. “I think she’ll come around eventually, but it could take some time.”

  Lou nodded. “I'll tell the girls. We'll proceed as planned, but everyone needs to be sensitive and make sure we don't scare Lena off.”

  “I feel kind of bad,” Vi said. “Like we're manipulating her.”

  “It's not manipulation,” Lou said sharply. “We never manipulate people. We only manipulate situations.

  Vi wrinkled her nose. “What's the difference?”

  “The difference is we simply make it possible for people to see that love is possible,” she said, smiling. “It's up to them to decide whether or not they want to reach out and grab it.”

  Gage had forgotten how much work a new puppy could be. In their first twenty-four hours together, she'd chewed up three of his shoes—all lefts, by the way, she apparently didn't care for the rights—peed on the carpet, howled all night until he allowed her to sleep curled up on his bed, and ripped open the dog food bag while he was in the shower, leaving the kitchen floor covered in kibble.

  And a bloated puppy.

  He hadn't come up with a name just yet. The ones he'd been calling her probably weren't safe for mixed company.

  On Monday, he brought her to the station with him, unwilling to risk leaving her in his house alone. He had too many things that he didn't want chewed or peed on, and he figured it would be good for her socialization to hang out with him at work.

  She did pretty well, all things considered. For the most part, she lay in her little bed in the corner, chewing on the sneaker she'd claimed as her own, between trips out behind city hall to let her do her business.

  But by lunchtime, the puppy was restless, and Gage figured he could use a break as well. So he headed over to the diner to pick up a sandwich, parking a few blocks away to allow the pup some exercise.

  It was a complete coincidence that he ended up on Main Street, walking right past McKenna's Creamery.

  Gage faltered a bit when he spotted Lena outside the shop, using a drill on a huge, wooden ice cream cone. He thought for a moment about turning the corner and going down the next street before she saw him—then mentally slapped himself, wondering why he'd even consider something so ridiculous. He was back to wanting to run when the pup let out a yip, and at the sound, Lena turned toward him.

  Too late, you big coward.

  He continued toward her, acting like he hadn't just been having a crisis in the middle of the sidewalk, smiled and nodded. “Lena,” he said.

  “Sheriff,” she replied before dropping to her knees. The puppy flopped into her lap, wriggling wildly and licking her face.

  She laughed. “Who is this?”

  Gage cleared his throat. “I'm not sure.”

  “She's not yours?” Lena looked up at him, the dog chewing on her hair. She pulled it gently away.

  “Oh, she's mine,” he said. “But I've only had her for a couple of days. I haven't figured out a name yet.”

  “Oh no,” she said, pursing her lips at the pup and speaking in a low voice as she squished her face. “You don't have a name yet? But you're so cute. Yes, you are.” The puppy licked her nose in agreement. “How about Deputy?” she suggested.

  He frowned. “Why would you name a dog Deputy?”

  “Well, you're the Sheriff, so . . .” She grinned.

  He glared at her without heat. “Chief.”

  She shrugged and got to her feet. “How about Outlaw?”

  “Nope,” he said. “My pup is a law-abiding citizen.”

  “Oh, that's no fun,” Lena said with a smirk that made his breath catch.

  What was that?

  Choosing to ignore his weird reaction, Gage looked up—and up—at the giant ice cream cone she'd been apparently attaching to the lamp post in front of her shop. “That's a mighty big ice cream cone,” he said. “Why is it green?”

  Lena rolled her eyes. “For St. Patrick's Day?” she said, as if speaking to a small child. “See?” She tapped on the painted sign that appeared to be hanging around the confection.

  “Really?” he said with a wry smile. “Kiss the Blarney Cone?”

  “It'll bring ye' luck,” she said with an exaggerated brogue and a wink. “Plus, it's delicious.”

  The puppy was chewing on Lena's shoelaces, so he pulled her back a little by the leash. “What is it?” he asked. “A Blarney Cone.”

  “Waffle cone with three scoops of chocolate-chip-mint ice cream, plus mint M&M's in the bottom of the cone, and a drizzle of hot fudge and green sprinkles.”

  Gage's eyes widened. “Sounds like a diabetic coma waiting to happen.”

  She dismissed the retort with a wave of her hand. “Come on, Sheriff, it's St. Patrick's Day. Where's your Irish spirit?”

  “I don't think there's such a thing.”

  A brow shot up. “You’re from Chicago. I’d think they’d tar and feather you there for such a comment.”

  “They do dye the river green,” he admitted. “But in law enforcement, the holiday’s more of a headache than anything else. Drunken revelers as far as the eye can see.”

  “Pity,” she said, shaking her head. “I think you’ll find St. Patrick's Day in Holiday Junction a bit more family-friendly.” She paused, watching the puppy and chewing her lip, as if thinking hard about something.

  Gage tore his gaze away from her and looked back up at the giant ice cream cone. “How tall is that, anyway?”

  “Huh?” she blinked, seemingly startled. “Oh, I don't know. My grandpa made it years ago. Eight or nine feet, I guess?”

  He frowned. They'd been getting along so well, and he was about to ruin it.

  “Is there a problem?” Lena asked, her spine stiffening. “You can't tell me that it's illegal to have a giant ice cream cone out in front of your shop.”

  “Well, no . . .” he replied slowly. The puppy stepped on his foot and stared up at him, quietly whining, like she sensed tension in the air.

  “What is it?” Lena asked through gritted teeth.

  And at that moment, Gage really hated his job. Because he didn't want to tell Lena that she'd have to take down the big green ice cream cone with the terrible, but clever, pun emblazoned on it . . . that her grandpa built with his own two hands.

  The puppy tilted her head, betrayal in her wide, brown eyes.

  “The thing is,” Gage said, “the top of the cone is blocking the street light. And that, actually, is against—”

  “—the law,” Lena said with him.

  “Yeah.” He cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

  Lena closed her eyes and took a deep breath. “Look,” she said. “It's only partially blocking it. There’s a gap on each side where the light can get out. Plus, I have my own light over there.” She pointed to a fixture over the door of the shop. “The sidewalk will be well lit. There's no danger.”


  “I understand that, but if you're allowed—”

  “I have been allowed for years,” she said, her irritation showing now. “We've had that ice cream cone up every year since before I was born!”

  “If you're allowed, it sets a precedent—”

  “And before you know it, the whole street will be littered with ten-foot-tall wooden desserts!” Lena snapped, throwing up her hands. “You've got to cut me a little slack here, Sheriff. Do you have to be such a—a—”

  He crossed his arms, pulling the puppy a little to the left. “Such a what?”

  She glared at him. “A stick in the mud!”

  The puppy yipped in agreement.

  Gage pressed his lips together, suddenly fighting the urge to laugh. Lena looked so serious . . . so outraged. And all she could call him was a stick in the mud? He wasn't sure why he wasn't irritated anymore. Instead, he was almost . . . amused?

  “All you have to do is cut it down a little bit,” he suggested.

  “That'll throw the proportions all off!”

  “I don't know what to tell you,” he said, perhaps enjoying this a little too much. “If you want to keep it up, you'll have to lose about a foot of it.”

  Lena's jaw tightened, her eyes narrowed, then she let out an aggravated grunt and turned to stalk away, stopping to pick up her drill before she walked into the shop and slammed the door.

  Okay, maybe he'd pushed her a little too far. Gage walked up and peeked through the window into the creamery. Lena was talking to someone—or maybe herself—making sweeping arm gestures and stomping about angrily. He was going to offer to help her out . . . maybe bring his saw down and they could work together to find a solution. But she caught sight of him and glared at him before turning around and walking through a doorway into the back of the shop.

  Maybe he'd let her cool down a bit first.

  * * *

  That night, Gage was flipping through TV channels when he stopped on an episode of the old Andy Griffith Show. He watched for a few minutes, laughing at the antics of Deputy Fife and smiling as Sheriff Andy dispensed some fatherly wisdom to his young son. Then he walked into the kitchen, where Aunt Bea handed him a cup of tea and a smile.

  Hmm . . .

  Gage stared for a moment at the man in his khakis and badge . . . and the older woman in a beehive hairdo and apron.

  The sheriff and—

  He glanced down at the puppy sleeping in his lap.

  “What do you think of Aunt Bea?” he asked her quietly.

  The puppy snorted.

  “Just Bea, then.” Gage smiled. “Bea it is.”

  * * *

  Lena was furious.

  She'd gone from feeling bad and wanting to make amends with the Chief to—

  Well, you could mess with Lena. But mess with her giant wooden novelty ice cream cone, and you were asking for trouble.

  It was just so stupid. There was plenty of light in front of her shop, and she couldn't help but think that Gage was only enforcing the rule to drive her crazy. That he was out to get her for some reason.

  Maybe he was still mad about the whole car prank.

  She scrubbed at a stainless steel bowl, her under-the-breath grumbles echoing around the empty kitchen at the Creamery. It had been hours since the encounter with Gage, but it still bothered her. They'd been joking around, talking about his adorable puppy and she'd almost thought they'd moved beyond everything. But no. No, he had to start it all up again with something so incredibly ridiculous and petty.

  Petty. If he wanted to be petty, Lena could play that game. She was the queen of petty.

  She rinsed the bowl and set it in a drying rack, wiping her hands on the towel tucked in the pocket of her jeans. She completed her usual end-of-the night routine; shutting off the lights, gathering the trash, touching the horseshoe over the back door for luck, and locked the alley door, tossing the garbage into the dumpster before heading to her car.

  Two blocks away.

  That still rankled. The process of getting her spot back was taking a little longer than she'd hoped. Joshua was holding fast, saying she needed to get her signatures before he'd take her proposal to the council.

  The man was a tough negotiator.

  She was almost to her car when she caught sight of the mailing center and stopped, an idea popping into her mind. Lena grabbed her phone and scrolled through her contacts before dialing.

  The phone rang.

  “Come on. Come on,” she muttered, shifting from one foot to the other.

  “Hello?”

  “Hey, Jared? It's Lena McKenna.”

  “Oh, hey, Lena. How's it going?”

  “Good, good. Thanks. Listen, I'm looking for some packing peanuts. You have any you can spare?”

  Jared laughed. “Are you kidding? People bring them in all the time. I have bags of them in the back of the store.”

  Lena grinned up at the facade of the mailing center. “How many can I have?”

  “What's it worth to you?”

  Jared had always been greedy.

  “How about a gallon of salted caramel cookie dough?” she offered.

  Jared hummed. “Make it two and you can have all you want.”

  “Deal. I'll come by tomorrow,” she said.

  When Lena hung up, she got into her car and drove home with a smile on her face.

  Because revenge? Revenge was oh, so sweet.

  * * *

  She waited patiently for her opportunity, and it finally came on Friday night. She was driving home when she spotted the familiar blue car sitting in the parking lot of the Shamrock.

  It couldn't have been any easier.

  Lena parked about a block away, not wanting anyone to spot her car—especially Gage—and walked back carrying two bags of packing peanuts that were almost as big as she was. She left the bags next to Gage's car and made her way through the back door of the bar. She paused in the shadows next to the bathroom, then slipped into the storage room across the way, her heart racing wildly. She wove through the stacks of boxes lining the walls to Braden's office on the far side of the room and pressed her ear against the door, listening for any sign of life inside.

  Nothing.

  Holding her breath, she turned the knob, quickly scanning the office to ensure it was empty before she grabbed the Slim Jim off the nail behind the door.

  Braden had so many people come to him over the years who'd locked their keys in their cars, only to wait around for a locksmith to make their way from the city. Eventually, he went ahead and bought the tool so he could help people himself.

  Lena smiled. She was pretty sure her brother hadn't had this in mind.

  She should have slipped out the back door and gotten on with it, but Lena couldn't resist checking, telling herself it was simply to make sure she wouldn't be caught. She edged toward the main area of the bar, pressed against the wall, until she could finally see the room beyond.

  Lena spotted Gage immediately. He sat at the bar with—was that Kade Rivera? They had their backs to her, and were talking to Braden, who looked up suddenly and caught her eye. She froze and shook her head, eyes wide. Braden gave her an odd look, but didn't give her away. He went back to his conversation with Kade and Gage, polishing a glass with a white towel, and Lena slid back down the hall.

  She kissed her fingers and touched the horseshoe Braden had installed over the back door when he bought the place, figuring she needed all the luck she could get. Lena didn't breathe until she was through the door and out in the parking lot, the Slim Jim in her trembling hands.

  “What am I doing? What am I doing?” she whispered to herself. She should have probably stopped right then, but she didn't. She couldn't. She was driven forward by near-hysteria . . . a need to finish what she'd started.

  Lena made her way to Gage's car and stood by the driver's side door. This was it. The point of no return. She could leave, go home and have a glass of wine and a hot bath.

  Or . . .

  Or she
could get her vengeance.

  Lena grinned—rather maniacally, actually—and used the Slim Jim to open the door.

  * * *

  “Another?” Braden asked Gage, nodding to the empty beer bottle in front of him.

  Gage glanced at Kade, sitting on the stool next to him and shook his head. “How about a glass of water?” Gage had a feeling he'd be giving Kade a ride home.

  Braden gave him a small smile and filled a glass, sliding it across the smooth wooden bar. Gage had intended to spend a quiet evening at home, since Andrews was on duty for the night. But when Kade had called to invite him to get a beer at the Shamrock, Gage welcomed the change of scenery.

  He hoped the scenery was still the same when he got home, and that Bea hadn't eaten it all. He'd invested in a couple of baby gates, to isolate the pup in the laundry room. Fingers crossed that they could stand up to her rather persistent personality.

  “I mean, it's too soon, isn't it?” Kade asked for the fiftieth time. He wasn't drunk. Not really. But his eyes were a little glassy and he seemed a bit obsessed about the possibility of proposing to his girlfriend. From what Gage had learned, they'd been friends all their lives, grew up next door to each other, but only recently had the relationship turned romantic.

  And Kade, although certain that Vi was The One, didn't want to scare her off.

  “Dude,” Braden said, wiping down the bar with a towel. “Vi is crazy about you. Anyone can see that.”

  “I know. I know.” Kade shook his head. “But I have to handle this very carefully. Vi can be a bit skittish.”

  “Well, there's no rush, is there?” Gage asked. “I mean, these things take time. You have to think about how you want to do it, get a ring—”

  “Oh, I already have a ring,” Kade said, taking a sip of his beer.

  “You have the ring?”

  “Sure.” Kade shrugged. “It was my mom's.”

  Gage glanced at Braden, who threw the towel over one shoulder and leaned against the bar. “So you love her. She loves you. You have a ring. Lock it down. What's the problem?”