Untangling Christmas (Silverton Sweethearts Book 3)

by Shanna Hatfield

  Brock’s teasing description of his friend drew out her smile. She gave him a conspiratorial wink. “The lure of Black Friday sales holds no appeal for me. Before the trees start arriving next week, I have several things to attend to. I’ll be here all weekend.”

  “In that case, I’ll see you Friday.” Brock tipped his head to her then helped his crew gather their tools and carry them outside.

  Taylor encouraged the rest of the workers to head home. After all, tomorrow was Thanksgiving and those with families needed to be with those they loved.

  As for Taylor, her uncle was the only person she had left in the world who cared about her.

  With a final glance around the warehouse, she turned off the lights and locked the building. She tugged on gloves then held her oversized purse over her head as she raced across the parking lot to her car. Frigid droplets of rain ran down her neck and puddles soaked her feet by the time she reached her vehicle and slid into the driver’s seat.

  On the way home, she stopped at the grocery store, wishing she’d thought to stock up earlier. Crowds elbowed their way down the aisles, everyone impatient and in a hurry to return to their homes.

  Taylor smiled at people she knew, making her way through the store. Since there wasn’t a turkey to be had unless she wanted lunch meat slices, she added a plump roasting chicken to her cart, along with potatoes, fresh vegetables, rolls from the bakery, and the can of jellied cranberry sauce her uncle requested.

  Cart loaded, she stood near the checkout line, attempting to deduce which checker worked the fastest. A jostle from behind nearly sent her sprawling into her cart, but a hand grabbed her arm and kept her upright.

  “I’m sorry, miss. I didn’t mean to bump into you.” A deep, entrancing voice offered the apology.

  Unsettled, Taylor turned and stared into the alluring green eyes of Mike Clarke.

  “It’s you,” he said, releasing her so abruptly, she took a step backward to keep from falling.

  Tickled by the flash of repugnance on his face, she laughed. “Don’t look so distraught, Mr. Clarke. I promise just by touching my coat you won’t develop a colorful style of dressing and your hair won’t suddenly turn red. Or is that flame-headed?”

  Properly chastised, Mike offered her a shamefaced grin. “I really am sorry, Miss Taggart. About what I said earlier, and bumping into you.” He glanced into her full cart. “Are you getting ready for a turkey day feast?”

  She pointed to the chicken. “Minus the turkey. They’re sold out, but Uncle Bill won’t care.”

  “Is it just you and your uncle?” Mike fell in line behind her as they inched toward the cash register.

  “Yep. Uncle Bill isn’t picky about what he eats, which is a good thing. I don’t spend a lot of time in the kitchen.” Taylor glanced into the basket of groceries Mike held. “Are you making a cake or pie?”

  He chuckled, a deep rumble that struck a harmonic chord in Taylor’s heart. “My efforts at doing either would be disastrous. I know how to make two kinds of cookies and both involve a cake mix. Levi asked me to make pumpkin cookies for tomorrow.”

  “Pumpkin cookies? With a cake mix and canned pumpkin?” she eyed his ingredients speculatively.

  “Two ingredients. Mix, bake, and top with canned frosting.” Mike grinned. “You can’t get much simpler than that unless you buy pre-made cookies. I used to make these when Levi and I shared an apartment. He said it wouldn’t seem like Thanksgiving without them, so I promised to bring a batch to dinner tomorrow.”

  “Levi and Kat live in Portland, don’t they?” Taylor asked, trying not to notice how a smile transformed Mike’s face from sullen to seductive.

  “Yeah, they do. They live with Kat’s grandfather. Levi wasn’t so sure he’d like it at first, but I think he’s grown accustomed to the place.” Mike pointed to the woman working the cash register, waiting for Taylor to set her groceries on the conveyor belt.

  “You can cut in front if you like,” she offered.

  Mike shook his head. “Go ahead.”

  Hurriedly, Taylor emptied her cart and pushed it to where a harried teenager bagged groceries as fast as the checker pushed them across the barcode scanner.

  After paying for her groceries, she glanced back at Mike as he set his basket down in front of the checker.

  “Have a nice Thanksgiving, Mr. Clarke.”

  He dug a wallet out of his back pocket as he offered her a small smile. “You, too, Miss Taggart.”

  She pushed her cart outside and sucked in a breath, shocked by how much the temperature had dropped. Chilled, she dashed past rows of cars to the far end of the parking lot and opened the trunk of her car. She lifted bags from the cart when a whiff of something that smelled like warm suede mingled with teakwood and all man tantalized her nose.

  Her head snapped up and she stared into Mike’s verdant eyes.

  “Let me help,” he said, grabbing a handful of bags and setting them inside her trunk.

  Stunned by his kindness after their initial awkward meeting, she didn’t know what to say. Quickly recovering, she smiled at him. “Thank you, Mr. Clarke. I appreciate it.”

  “You’re welcome. Have a nice Thanksgiving, Miss Taggart.” He took the cart and pushed it into the cart corral at the end of the row then climbed in a big pickup parked one row over.

  Taylor slid into her car and watched Mike leave the parking lot. “Macho truck for a macho guy,” she muttered, backing out of her space and driving to her uncle’s home.

  Happy to see Uncle Bill remembered to leave the porch light on for her, she backed into the driveway and parked in the carport, close to the back door.

  By the time she popped the trunk and filled her hands with bags, the back door opened and her uncle held it for her.

  “I began to think we’d have to send out a search party for you,” he said, trying to take a few bags from her hands. She maneuvered past him and down the short hallway into the kitchen.

  “The grocery store was a mess.” She set the bags on the counter near the refrigerator. “Why don’t you work on putting this stuff away and I’ll get the rest?”

  “Sure, punkin.” Bill shuffled over to where she left the bags.

  She returned to Silverton to care for her uncle when he had knee replacement surgery. In the six weeks she’d been staying with him, he’d regained most of his mobility.

  Grateful her uncle had finally reached out and asked for help, she was more than happy to return to the town of her birth to care for him. Within a week of her arrival, Taylor decided to stay and took the job as director of the newly formed Silverton Foundation.

  She enjoyed the work and being with her uncle. In fact, moving back made her feel as if she’d returned to the place she was meant to be. Her parents divorced when she was ten and left Silverton. Taylor accompanied her mother to California where they moved from town to town. She spent holidays with her father in Colorado.

  Eventually, both of her parents remarried, although neither of them had more children. Through the years of being passed back and forth, she never felt like she belonged anywhere.

  The times she returned to Silverton, though, were among her favorite memories. She’d accompany her uncle to his big shipping warehouse where the bustle and noise of a thriving business drew her interest.

  Now, the business was closed and her parents had all but forgotten she existed, but she had a home for as long as she wanted with an uncle who doted on her.

  And that was enough for Taylor.

  She carried the last of the bags into the kitchen. The sound of toenails clacking on the hallway tile drew her gaze to the doorway. A half-grown boxer dog and an orange tabby cat rushed into the kitchen. The dog, tongue lolling out of its mouth, eyes wide with excitement, slid on the puddle Taylor’s wet coat and shoes left on the kitchen floor.

  Hind end in the air and feet churning, the gangly dog rolled over the cat and both landed in a heap at Taylor’s feet.

  “You two goofballs are something e
lse.” She laughed as she picked up the cat in one arm and rubbed the dog’s head with her other hand.

  “They’ve been pacing in front of the window the last hour, waiting for you to get home.” Bill set the chicken on the counter and gave Taylor a curious glance. “No turkey?”

  “Nope. By the time I made it to the store, it was either chicken or that nasty processed stuff they pass off as ham.” Taylor set down the cat and removed her coat, hanging it on a hook by the back door. She returned to the kitchen with a mop and cleaned up the puddles on the floor.

  “Chicken it is,” Bill said, scowling at the dog as it sniffed a box containing pumpkin pie. “Fred, if you eat that pie, so help me, I’ll toss you out on your noggin.”

  The dog cocked an ear and tilted her head, staring at the man as though she hung on his every word.

  “Now, Uncle Bill, don’t threaten Fred. She knows a good thing when she sniffs it.” Taylor moved the pie far out of the dog’s reach and hurried to put away the remainder of the groceries. “What would you like for dinner tonight?” she asked, glancing at her uncle as he folded the reusable canvas tote bags she used for the groceries.

  “Are you talking to me or them?” Bill stared at the cat as it rubbed against his leg.

  “You. Fred and Ginger already know what they’re getting for dinner.” Taylor filled the dog’s dish and set it down on one side of the kitchen then poured food into the cat’s bowl on the opposite side of the room. If she didn’t keep them separated, Fred would eat all the food and waggle her back end, ready for more. Ginger would meow pitifully and pout that he’d been stiffed on his meal.

  “What are my options?” Bill washed his hands, studying his niece.

  “Soup and a sandwich, salad and a sandwich, or leftover chili.” Taylor grinned at her uncle as she washed her hands and filled the teakettle, setting it on the stove and flicking on the burner.

  “Might as well eat the chili.”

  Taylor pointed to the dish cupboard while she removed the chili from the refrigerator. “If you’d be so kind, kind sir, to set the table, I’ll have this ready in a jiffy.”

  Bill set out plates and silverware then poured two glasses full of milk and carried them to the round table sitting in front of the bay windows overlooking the back yard. Streaks of rain, peppered with bits of sleet and ice, trailed down the window, obscuring the view through the glass.

  “It’s a nasty night out, isn’t it?” He turned back to Taylor.

  “It is. As cold as the temperature dropped, I wouldn’t be surprised if it snowed.”

  Bill shook his head. “That’s not likely, punkin. We rarely see snow here.”

  “I know, but it would be fun to wake up to a world covered in white.” Taylor stirred the bowl of chili and returned it to the microwave. While it heated, she slid several pieces of leftover cornbread into the oven to warm and placed a bowl of salad on the table.

  In just a few minutes, she and her uncle sat down to enjoy the meal.

  “Anything interesting happen today?” he asked between bites of chili.

  “Not really. Brenna asked one of Brock’s friends, the electrician, to come by the warehouse today. Meeting him was…” Taylor searched for a good word. “Enlightening.”

  “Enlightening? How so?” Bill’s brow puckered into a frown as he looked at her.

  Taylor dabbed at her mouth with her napkin. “Apparently, he finds me to be a flame-headed freak. I think there was also some mention about a frat house costume party.”

  “Why, that boy needs a lesson in…”

  Taylor fluttered a hand toward her uncle and smiled. “Honestly, Uncle Bill, I thought it was funny. He didn’t mean for me to overhear his comment and when he realized I had, he was notably embarrassed.”

  “I should say so,” Bill groused, jabbing his spoon into his chili with force, as though he wanted to jab it at the man who insulted her. “He had no right to speak about you that way. He doesn’t even know you.”

  “No, he doesn’t, but he’s entitled to his opinions. I know some people think I dress odd, am odd, and that’s their right.” Taylor shrugged and buttered a piece of cornbread, drizzling it with honey. “It doesn’t bother me.”

  Bill shook his spoon at her. “Well, it bothers me. If they haven’t got sense enough to see you’re about the sweetest gal ever put on this earth, they don’t deserve to be in the same room with you.” Bill eyed her bright sweater and leaned over to glance at the yellow tights on her legs. “Did you intend to dress so colorfully today?”

  Taylor laughed. “Yes, I did. What’s wrong with dressing effervescently?” She’d decided years ago to wear clothes that made her smile. It took her a while to purge her wardrobe of clothes she found boring and add pieces that brought her joy. She didn’t care one whit if some people thought her outfits strange. Those people would never take the time to get to know her, judging her solely on her appearance.

  “Not a thing, punkin. Not a thing.” Bill took another bite of chili. “Tell me about the boy who insulted you.”

  She sighed. “He didn’t insult me. It’s only an insult if I take it that way. His name is Mike Clarke. His brother, Levi, is the one who helped get the community center up and running. Levi is the director of Center for Hope in Portland.”

  “I’ve heard of it. Don’t they have a big charity shindig coming up in a few weeks to raise funds for it?”

  Taylor nodded her head. “Yes. Levi’s wife organized it last year and she’s doing it again this year. The board of directors for the foundation thought we should hold a fundraiser of some sort for the local center. That’s why we’re doing the Festival of Trees in your warehouse.”

  Bill grunted in agreement. “I know all that, but how does the dunderheaded Mr. Clarke figure into all this?”

  “Well, Brenna and I thought it might be a good idea to have someone check the wiring before we plug in a gazillion strings of lights. She said Brock’s friend was one of the best electricians in the state and she’d have him take a look. That’s what he did this afternoon.”

  “And that’s when he insulted you?”

  “I already told you, I wasn’t insulted. In fact, it was kind of funny.” Taylor glanced down at the sweater that clashed with her tights and only marginally blended with her skirt. “My choice of attire could be considered rather… creative to some people. And my hair is unmistakably red.”

  “Still, if I ever meet that boy, I’ll give him a piece of my mind about speaking out of turn.” Bill crumbled his cornbread into his chili and glanced up to find Taylor watching him.

  “He’s not exactly a boy, Uncle Bill. He’s probably in his thirties, owns his own business, and appears to be successful. Besides,” she tossed him a sassy grin, “he can call me anything he wants as long as he gets the wiring ready for our festival.”

  Although Taylor wanted to deny it, the idea of seeing Mike again left her eager for Friday morning to arrive.

  Chapter Three

  Mike gathered his tools and supplies then strode to the door of the Ferrelly warehouse. Half expecting to find the door locked at the early morning hour, he was surprised the knob turned. He walked inside, engulfed by warmth despite the cavernous building’s size.

  Music drifted to the lobby area from the back of the warehouse. He followed the sound and stepped into the open space.

  Taylor Taggart jogged around the outer edge of the room, as if it was a track, with a boxer dog racing in circles around her. Much to his surprise, she wore normal jogging clothes, although sequins bedazzled her hot pink tennis shoes.

  “Fred, if you trip me again, I’ll take you home,” she said in warning to the wound-up canine. The dog barked then jumped into the air several times. It waggled its rump and continued running back and forth across the broad expanse of the floor.

  Suddenly, the dog stopped and sniffed, turning to stare at Mike. It barked twice and raced his way. Uncertain if it planned to eat him for breakfast or lick him to death, he set down his tools and
supplies then braced for impact.

  The dog skidded to a stop in front of him, whining and wagging its tail.

  Assured the slobbering beast was friendly, Mike bent over to pet it at the same moment the dog leaped upward, hitting him in the face with enough force to send him staggering backward.

  “Fred! Get down, girl! Down!” Taylor commanded, running over to where Mike clasped the edge of the doorframe and held a hand to his aching face. She grabbed the dog’s collar and it immediately sat at her feet, squirming and whimpering. “Are you okay, Mr. Clarke?”

  “Just give me a minute,” Mike said in a blunt tone. He blinked his eyes to clear away the lingering pain of having the canine hit him full force with its head. His nose stung and his left eye throbbed, but nothing was bleeding, so that was a good sign.

  As he regained his senses, he glared at Taylor. “Did you call that dog Fred?”

  She rubbed a loving hand over the dog’s head. “That’s right.”

  “And it’s a girl?” Mike questioned. He felt as though he teetered on the edge of a rabbit hole to Wonderland.

  “Fred is a girl.” Taylor lips curved upward. “Her playmate is a cat named Ginger. Uncle Bill thought the cat was a girl when he named it, but it turns out he’s all boy. It seemed appropriate to name the girl dog a boy name after that. Uncle Bill has a thing for old movies. That’s where he derived the idea to name them Fred and Ginger. We’re just lucky he didn’t go with Abbott and Costello.”

  Despite his annoyance with the woman and her dog, he grinned. “Coming from you, that somehow sounds logical.”

  Her laughter chimed like holiday bells throughout the large room. Mike did his best to ignore it, but something in him enjoyed the sound and wanted to hear it again.

  Gruffly, he picked up his things and pointed toward the room at the far end of the warehouse. “I’ll get started at the breaker and work my way out from there. It would be a help if you’d mark the spots where you think you’d like additional outlets.”

  “I’d be happy to.” She squatted down and wrapped both arms around the dog to keep her from trailing after Mike.