Lakeshore Chronicles [10] Candlelight Christmas

by Susan Wiggs

  Everyone helped carry the boxed pies to the serving area. The feasting had been going on all day, with a rotating series of kids and volunteers. Some of the children were long-term residents of Ryder House, while others came for the day. People were gathered around tables decorated with flower arrangements, crepe paper turkeys, cornucopia and candles. The buffet line moved slowly along a sideboard laden with a feast with all the trimmings. At one end of the room, a bluegrass ensemble played background music.

  “Ready to help out?” Logan asked, handing out aprons to Charlie, the nieces and nephews. “We’re on the pie detail.”

  “Okay.” Like his cousin Bernie, Charlie seemed timid around the other kids, though eager to help out. They went to the dessert table and got to work, carefully placing small slices of pie on white china plates and setting them out for people to eat.

  There were smiles and subdued thank-yous, although an air of melancholy pervaded the atmosphere. Some of the older kids seemed chastened by the understanding that they were receiving charity. Logan served a slice of berry pie to a boy who looked to be about Charlie’s age. His clothes were clean but worn, and he had a peculiar world-weariness that made him seem much older. He furtively took his dessert, mumbled a thank-you and shuffled away to a table.

  I will never complain again about my life, thought Logan.

  He noticed that Darcy wasn’t serving food, but had hunkered down in the play area, supervising a game of Jenga blocks. She seemed so vibrant, surrounded by kids, relaxed in their presence. It made him wonder about her comment last summer, when she’d claimed she was averse to children.

  She was something of a puzzle to him. An intriguing puzzle. A puzzle he found far more attractive than he should.

  Maybe it was deprivation, plain and simple. He hadn’t dated anyone this fall. In the first place, he hadn’t met anyone he wanted to date. In the second place, he’d been way too busy with Saddle Mountain. True to his word, he’d created an investor group and they’d acquired the ski area. The transfer was going smoothly, but it was a lot of work. All-consuming work. It left little time for a social life. He’d been working twelve-hour days, seven days a week, since signing the papers, and this holiday was his very first time off. The mountain was slated to open for skiing in a week. It kept him busy to the point of exhaustion. Yet the project fulfilled him in a way his insurance business never, ever had.

  The ensemble played some traditional tunes while some of the younger kids ran around, pretending to dance.

  “Time for the hokeypokey,” announced a guy on the microphone. “Come on, everybody, don’t be shy. Let’s bust a move!”

  Logan scanned the room, and noticed Darcy bearing down on him.

  “Oh, hell no,” he muttered under his breath, apprehensive about the glint of mischief in her eyes.

  “You heard what the guy said,” she told him. “Don’t be a chicken.”

  “Yeah, Dad,” said Charlie. “Don’t be a chicken.”

  Resigned, Logan took off his apron and set it aside. “You’re coming, too, buddy.”

  “No way.” Charlie stuck out his chin. “No w-a-y.”

  Darcy was having none of it. She grabbed Charlie with one hand and Logan with the other. “Let’s go, boys.”

  Feeling all kinds of foolish, Logan joined the raucous circle and forced himself to do the hokey-freaking-pokey.

  Darcy was ridiculously into it, and in spite of himself, he couldn’t take his eyes off her when she did the “shake it all about” part. Damn.

  When Charlie saw his cousins and some of the older kids joining in, he got over his bashfulness and let himself go. Within minutes, he was in the center of the action, laughing and shaking, surrounded by children who seemed to forget, if only for a moment, that they were homeless, neglected, troubled, abused.

  Logan caught Darcy looking at him, and she laughed. “Now, that,” she said, indicating the mass of squirming, laughing kids, “is what it’s all about.”

  Chapter Seven

  Darcy got up early the day after Thanksgiving. The lovely guest room at Sea Breeze didn’t feel like the real world to her. That, at any rate, was something to be thankful for. A quick check of her phone showed that she’d missed a few calls and text messages from her parents and sisters. She shrugged them off; she’d return their calls later, maybe from the airport.

  In some respects, being away from her family this Thanksgiving had been unexpectedly painful. She couldn’t help resenting Huntley for supplanting her at the Thanksgiving table. Even as she’d toasted and feasted with the O’Donnells, she’d caught herself thinking wistfully of her dad’s gentle humor, her mom’s perfectly seasoned stuffing, her sisters’ gossip and laughter. She missed their chatter and her parents’ banter, and the deep, elemental security of being part of a family. But having Huntley there would have put a damper on everything.

  The best way to keep from stumbling over the past was to move forward, she reminded herself. That was her whole rationale for braving the holiday travel crowds and coming to Florida in the first place. She got up and went to the window, opening the plantation shutters and looking out over the gardens.

  There was a unique sort of beauty in the tropical morning. The air was warm already, and according to the tide chart posted on the wall above the writing desk, the surf was going to be perfect. She slipped into her borrowed swimsuit, cover-up and flip-flops and headed down to the beach.

  In the morning quiet of the garden, Darcy woke her mouth up with a calamondin plucked straight from the tree, wincing at the taste of the bittersweet peel and tart center. Then she plucked a couple of oranges and tucked them in her bag.

  “Can’t stay away from the beach, can you?”

  She turned, already blushing. “Oh, hey, Logan.”

  “Hey yourself. You’re up early. It’s not even seven.”

  “I wanted to get a little more beach time in before I have to go. I have to get back to New York this evening.”

  “Mind if I join you?”

  Mind? Mind? “That’d be great,” she said.

  They walked in silence—a silence she found to be quite companionable. For no good reason, she felt very comfortable with Logan. He was easy to be with, easy to talk to. Easy on the eye, though she pretended to look around and not at him. The air was sweet with the smell of magnolias and the sea, and a light breeze brought with it eddies of warmth.

  “Your folks have a great spot here,” she remarked.

  “Yeah. We’re really lucky.”

  “Some would say spoiled.”

  “Yeah, okay. Spoiled. But in a good way.” He flashed a grin.

  “True,” she said. “That was really nice last night, helping out at the children’s center.”

  “Thanks for coming along. But I thought you were allergic to kids.”

  “I guess I like them in small doses. Especially when they’re at a place like Ryder House. It’s nice to help.”

  “Agreed. I’ve been really lucky in my life, and I never want to take that for granted. It feels like a special privilege to help out.”

  “You’re right. I’ve heard it called a ‘helper’s high.’ Otherwise known as doing the hokeypokey.”

  He chuckled. “You’re a good sport.”

  “I like to think so.” She passed through the arch of beach roses and dune grass and stepped onto the sand, which was still slightly cool and damp from the night.

  “We practically have it all to ourselves,” she said, enchanted by the shifting blue of the water, the slight pink tinge of the morning sky.

  A few hundred yards away was a lone jogger, heading up the coast. In the other direction was a woman doing yoga poses. The rest of the beach belonged to the seagulls and sandpipers.

  Logan stopped at the cabana and took out two boards, along with a couple of bars of wax. They applied the wax to the already-bumpy surface of each board.

  “Okay,” he said when they finished. “Surf’s up.”

  She nodded and peeled off her
oversize tunic, knowing without looking at him that he was checking her out. His gaze felt like a waft of heat on her bare skin.

  He didn’t even pretend not to stare. “Sunscreen?” he asked, offering her a tube.

  “Thanks.” She spread the cream everywhere she could reach while he did the same. Then she donned her rash guard, a tight jersey shirt with three-quarter-length sleeves.

  “You missed a spot,” said Logan. “Turn around.” He went down on one knee and smoothed his hands down the backs of her thighs.

  She was startled by the sensation of his bare hands on her skin. It had been so long since a guy had touched her, she’d nearly forgotten what that felt like. And until this moment, she hadn’t realized that she missed it.

  She was flustered by the time he finished and stood up. “Thanks,” she said, hoping her thoughts didn’t show on her face. She’d never been good at playing it cool.

  “My pleasure.” He picked up his board. “Really.”

  She followed him to the surf. The warm water swirled around her ankles in a rhythm that pulled at her, reminding her of why she loved the ocean—the steady movement, the timeless rhythm, the mysteries beneath, the raw curl of power. “Let’s go ride some waves.”

  “You’re going to show me up again,” he accused.

  She laughed. “Watch and learn.”

  They waded out together and then mounted their boards to paddle out to the green water. The waves were aggressive, but beyond the first break, the ocean was calm, shifting with a cradling motion.

  “Beautiful morning,” he said, sitting astraddle and watching the incoming rollers.

  “It is. Let’s try this one.” She indicated a nice glassy mound coming toward them.

  “You got it.”

  They paddled in tandem, and when the momentum took their boards, they both stood up. She laughed aloud, loving the sensation of being propelled by the surge. The first ride of the day made her glad to be alive. She’d taken her stepchildren surfing a few years ago. She couldn’t keep herself from remembering that. This morning, though, the memory didn’t hurt.

  They rode for about an hour. Beyond the break, she caught sight of something out of the corner of her eye. A series of large, dark shapes flurried just under the surface, moving fast, a raft of liquid shadows.

  “Hey, Logan!” she yelled, looking around for him. Her heart pounded.

  He had seen, too, and seconds later, the dark shapes broke the surface and leaped into the air in a graceful arc. Darcy was transfixed, and then she broke into laughter. “Dolphins,” she cried. “I’ve never been this close to dolphins.” The animals leaped again, and she could feel the rush of wind and spray as they passed. It was magical. There was no other word for it.

  The animals didn’t seem to mind their proximity. They surged past, the muscular undulations of their bodies stirring the water, then causing shower after shower as they breached. She felt both intimidated and reverent, privileged to be part of their world. In that moment, the sense of wonder was so powerful it reminded her of being a child again.

  The dolphins leaped several more times, and then disappeared out to sea. Darcy’s gaze caught Logan’s and she could see that he was every bit as enchanted as she was, sharing the same sense of wordless wonder. The fact that they had witnessed it together bonded them in some intense way. Unforgettable moments had a habit of doing that.

  He signaled to her to indicate an incoming wave, and they rode it in together, side by side, to the shallows. She whipped her wet hair out of her face and grinned at him. “Well,” she said, “I guess that’s something you don’t see every day. I’m just... God, it was overwhelming. I have no idea what to say. I’m speechless. I mean, I’m babbling. But really, Logan, I—”

  He stopped her with a kiss. It was just that fast. One moment she was attempting to blather on about swimming with the dolphins, and the next, he had cradled her face between his hands and was kissing her with a raw, searing passion that took her breath away. For a second, she went stiff with startlement, and then she melted against him, feeling the unfamiliar shape of him, tasting him for the first time, exploring the texture of his lips, wishing it would go on for a very long time.

  “Oh,” she said when he finally lifted his mouth from hers. “Oh my.” Still at a loss for words, she stared up at him, wanting him to kiss her again, wondering if he wanted to. He tasted delicious, of salt from the sea and his own unique flavor. It was exciting and sexy and wholly unexpected. She had not kissed a man in ages. She was glad the one she was kissing happened to be Logan O’Donnell.

  He smiled down at her. “I’m glad we shared that.”

  She wasn’t sure he meant the dolphins or the kiss.

  “Me, too,” she said, and she knew which one she meant.

  “Are you sure you have to leave today?” he asked.

  Ah, so tempting. Then she took a deep breath. It was just a kiss, she reminded herself. It was only a kiss. “Yes. I have a work thing.” She bent over and unstrapped the ankle tether of her board.

  “On a holiday weekend?”

  She straightened up and nodded, furrowing a hand through her hair. “It’s weather-dependent. There’s a photo shoot that needs snow and ice, and that’s the prediction for tomorrow and Sunday.”

  “Sounds awesome. Where’s the shoot?”

  “Lake Placid,” she said. “It’s a snow sports shoot.”

  “Cool. So, do you do photography?”

  “No. I’d love to learn one day.”

  “It’s overrated,” he said quickly, almost harshly. He caught her quizzical look and added, “My ex is a photographer.”

  “I don’t think it’s contagious,” she said.

  “Yeah, sorry.” He passed her a towel. Their hands brushed, and they looked at each other briefly.

  Again, she thought. Let’s try kissing again. To her disappointment, he picked up her beach bag and started back toward the house.

  “So, what do you do on the shoot?” he asked. “Stylist, or...?”

  “I’m, uh, the subject,” she said, suddenly feeling self-conscious.

  “Sorry, what?”

  “The subject.”

  “Like, you’re a model?”

  “I’m one of the athletes,” she said, somewhat insulted by his surprise. She knew she wasn’t model-pretty, but she wished he thought she was.

  “Now I’m confused. I thought you were in advertising.”

  “I am. I’m in sports marketing,” she said. “It’s a specialized field. I work with sponsors, and the shoot is set up to show off their gear.”

  “What do you mean, you work with sponsors?”

  “As a sponsored athlete.”

  “Seriously? What kind of sport?” he asked, holding the back door for her. The kitchen, though deserted, was fragrant with the morning’s first pot of coffee.

  “Snowboarding is my specialty. I’ll be testing gear and apparel, and there will be photos and videos for the sponsors’ catalogue and website. Hence the need to shoot when the weather is cooperating.” She helped herself to a cup of coffee and poured one for him.

  “You snowboard to test and promote your sponsors’ gear, and that’s your job.”

  “Yes, some of the time.” She started feeling a bit defensive, as if he was judging her. There was a lot more to her job, but this weekend, that was it in a nutshell.

  Logan lifted his coffee mug in salute. “That is made of awesome.”

  She laughed. All right, so he wasn’t judging her. “The job’s not that much fun every day, but I can’t complain.”

  “Coolness. The more I get to know you,” he said, “the more I like you.” He put a couple of English muffins in the toaster. “Peanut butter, strawberry jam or both?” he asked.

  “Be still, my heart.”

  Oh, this was bad. Because she liked him, too, but he was everything she wasn’t looking for—a single dad, a man who had said, practically at their first meeting, that he wanted a big family. The idea made her sto
mach tighten with tension.

  “You’re going to love hanging out with me,” he said, slathering the English muffins with peanut butter and jam, and handing her one

  “What makes you think I’m going to hang out with you?” She took a bite of the warm, gooey muffin. It was almost as delicious as kissing him.

  “Because I have a ski resort. I mean, I’m part of the investment group, but I’m the controlling partner and general manager.” He paused and watched her savoring the muffin, seeming to focus on her lips. Then he picked up a napkin and gently dabbed at the corner of her mouth. “You inspired me,” he said simply.

  It was the last thing she expected to hear from him. “Huh?” she said, with peanut butter charmingly stuck to the roof of her mouth.

  “Last summer, when you talked about taking risks.”

  “I can’t believe you remember that.” She was flustered...but flattered.

  “So in the future, if you need a location for doing your gear testing and photo shoots, I can offer you carte blanche at Saddle Mountain. Come check it out some time. Come soon.”

  “Now, that,” she said, “is made of awesome. I’ll definitely tell my team. We’ve got a project going with a new snowboard company, and we’ll be doing a shoot sometime in December.”

  “You ought to come give Saddle Mountain a try. We’ll give you VIP privileges.”

  She polished off the English muffin, unable to recall enjoying a breakfast more. “Wow. I guess knowing the controlling partner is a perk.”

  “Controlling partner?” Al O’Donnell came into the kitchen. “What the hell are you talking about?”

  Darcy sensed it was her cue to leave. “I’d better hit the shower.”

  “Don’t run off,” said Al, looking a bit sheepish. “Logan and I can talk about this later.”

  “Or not,” Logan said good-naturedly, pouring coffee for his father. “Actually, I—”

  A cell phone on the counter chimed. Logan checked it, and his face changed entirely, turning marble-hard with tension. “Sorry, I have to take this. Excuse me.” Grabbing the phone, he stepped out to the backyard.