“We don’t always get what we ask for, Amy.”
“Tell me about it.”
More worked up than she’d been in a long, long time, she marched away from him and yanked open the door to escape into the only part of her world she still understood.
* * *
The rest of his day at Arabesque passed by in silence. Except when he was hammering or drilling, anyway. Other than that, Amy avoided him with a deftness that impressed and saddened him all at the same time. He’d been around enough wounded people in his life to recognize the regret that trailed after her, darkening her eyes with the kind of unrelenting sorrow he could only begin to imagine.
He’d just met her, but he instinctively wanted to do whatever he could to pound down the road ahead of her to make it easier for her to walk. The women who usually appealed to him were engaging, uncomplicated types who didn’t eat much and laughed easily. Something told him Amy Morgan was complicated by nature, which should’ve been an enormous red flag for him.
Unfortunately, it only made him wonder what it would take to make her laugh. Then again, he thought as he packed Fred’s tools into their cases, maybe he was getting ahead of himself. After all, he’d barely been able to tease a smile out of her, and they’d been together most of the day.
Stopping by her office, he knocked on the frame of the open door. “Everything’s put away, so I’m gonna get outta here before your students show up. I’ll be back Monday with those extra pieces we talked about.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem. Have a good rehearsal.”
Since he was out of things to say, he waved and began backing away. When she called out his name, he paused in the hallway. “Yeah?”
“Things were so hectic today, we never settled on your hourly rate.”
“I thought we agreed on zero.”
Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head in a skeptical pose he suspected was fairly common for her. “I assumed you were joking about that.”
“Nope. I’m sure Fred wasn’t charging you, so since I’m filling in for him, it wouldn’t be right for me to do it.”
“Where I’m from, strangers don’t do things for nothing.”
“Huh,” he said with his brightest grin. “And here I thought we were friends.”
While he watched, the brittle cynicism fell away, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a wry grin. “I should warn you, I’m not the easiest person to be friends with.”
“That’s cool. I like a challenge.”
Before she could warp their light exchange into something heavier, he turned and headed for the front door, whistling “Jingle Bell Rock” as he went. When the orchestral holiday medley coming over the studio speakers increased in volume, he knew she’d heard him and was registering her disapproving opinion of his taste in Christmas music. Didn’t matter a bit to him, he thought as he stepped from the studio. So they didn’t enjoy the same kind of tunes. It wasn’t as if he was going to marry her or anything.
Outside, he paused to take in the view of his hometown at the holidays. While he’d been gone, he’d seen plenty of towns, big, small and everything in between. He recalled most of their names, but none had ever measured up to Barrett’s Mill for him. At first glance, this Main Street resembled so many others, lined with buildings constructed in a time when skilled craftsmen took great pride in building things that would last forever.
The structures had a solid look to them, which gave the village a quaint, old-fashioned appeal for residents and visitors alike. Especially this time of year, when each business went all out to win the Chamber of Commerce award for best commercial decorations. The jewelry store’s front window was dominated by a glacial scene that had sparkling rings and earrings pinned into the fake waterfall. Next to it, a shop that sold office supplies had set up a huge pile of brightly wrapped gifts, with a few open at the front to display the latest gadgets you could find inside. Every window was rimmed in lights, and on a cloudy day like today they gave off a cheerful glow that looked like something straight out of a holiday movie.
Across the width of the street, volunteers had strung the lighted garlands and wreaths the same way they’d done for generations. For as long as Jason could remember, when those festive greens went up, he knew Christmas was right around the corner. Even when he’d lived out West, he’d come back home every year, even if it was only for a few days. As he got older, reconnecting with those lifelong memories comforted him, no matter what might have gone wrong for him elsewhere.
He recognized a few of the people out window-shopping and lifted a hand in greeting before climbing into his truck. Actually, it was one of the mill trucks, older than dirt and held together by rust and a lot of prayers. Paul had gotten it running over the summer and offered it to Jason when he finally broke down and bought a pickup manufactured in this century. To start it, Jason usually needed a screwdriver and a boatload of patience. Since it hadn’t been idle all that long, he took his chances and turned the key. Nothing happened at first, but when he gave it another shot, the engine whined a bit and caught. Pumping the gas pedal, he let the motor settle into the throaty rumble that told him it would keep running long enough for him to get where he was going. Usually.
As he made his way toward the edge of town, the pavement gave way to gravel, and he turned in by the sign Jenna had made to mark the very first business in town: Barrett’s Sawmill, Est. 1866. He felt a quick jolt of pride, recalling how his older brother, Paul, had left his wandering ways behind and come back to reopen the bankrupt family business. Now a humming custom-furniture manufacturer, they made things by hand the old-fashioned way, in a mill powered by its original waterwheel.
It was a far cry from the lumber camps Jason had been working at the past couple of years. About half as exciting, he mused as he parked next to Chelsea’s silver convertible, but way safer. Before he’d even closed the driver’s door, baying echoed from behind the mill house, and a huge red bloodhound raced out to meet him.
“Hey there, Boyd.” He laughed as the dog leaped up to give him the canine version of a high five. “What’s shakin’?”
The dog barked in reply, letting him go and racing around him in circles all the way up to the front porch. Inside, Jason paused outside the office’s half door and waved in at his newest sister-in-law. “Hey, Chelsea. How’re the numbers looking this week?”
Beaming, she gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “I love Christmas shoppers. They need things fast, and they’re willing to pay extra for quick delivery.”
Jason groaned, only half joking. “Sounds like we’re gonna get real busy.”
“I wouldn’t take up any new hobbies,” Paul advised from the open sliding door that led into the rear of the mill. Wiping grease from his hands on a rag, he went on. “This is supposed to be your last Saturday off till the end of the year. What’re you doing here?”
“Making a Christmas tree.”
Chelsea laughed. “Doesn’t God already take care of that?”
While Jason explained what he was up to, he kept things vague to avoid creating the wrong impression about his situation with Amy. Despite his best efforts, though, Paul’s expression grew increasingly suspicious.
“Uh-huh.” Dragging it out longer than usual, he folded his arms in disapproval. “Now, how ’bout the truth?”
“That is the truth,” Jason insisted, as much for himself as his nosy brother. “The lady wants a tree and a nice arch overtop, so I’m making them for her. And for the kids. They’re working hard on their show, and they deserve a big audience. I figured it’s a nice, Christmassy thing to do.”
“It’s very nice.” With her kitten, Daisy, cradled in her arms, Chelsea came out to back him up. Sending a stern look at her husband, she smiled at Jason. “I’m sure she really appreciates your help.”
“Don’t encourage him,
” Paul cautioned her. “He’s got a weakness for pretty faces and sad stories.”
“I do not,” Jason protested. Paul raised an eyebrow at him, and he decided it was pointless to argue. “Okay, you’re right, but this time’s different.”
“How?”
He didn’t want to lie, but it wasn’t his place to air her personal history, so he hedged, “Amy was advertising for a carpenter to replace Fred, and the job’s easy enough. Everyone else in the family does work for the church or charities this time of year, and I’ve been looking for a way to pitch in somewhere.”
“You’ve been doing that ever since you moved in with Gram and Granddad.” Paul rested a hand on his shoulder with a proud smile. “His cancer’s getting worse every day, and she needs your help after Mom goes home for the night. We’re all grateful to you for stepping up like that.”
The praise settled well, and Jason smiled back. “That’s why this project is so great. Working at Amy’s, I’ll be five minutes away if they need me. The show’s the week before Christmas, so my part’ll be over soon enough.”
“You realize you’re doing an awful lot of work for a woman you met—” Pausing, he chuckled. “When did you meet her, anyway?”
“This morning, after you and I had breakfast at the Whistlestop. She was decorating out front of the dance place, and since she’s new in town, I went over to say hi.” When Paul leveled one of those big-brother looks at him, Jason let out a frustrated growl. “You’re acting like I proposed or something.”
“Well...”
“That was a long time ago,” Jason reminded him, poking him in the chest for emphasis. “I learned my lesson with her, and I’ve got no plans for making that mistake again anytime soon.”
“I have to ask,” Chelsea interrupted. “Who on earth are you talking about?”
“Rachel McCarron,” Jason replied with a wry grin. “It didn’t work out.”
“That little minx took off with your best friend and your truck,” Paul reminded him, as if he’d lost his memory or something. “Oh, and the ring. Nice girl.”
“Whatever.”
Paul opened his mouth, then closed it almost immediately. Jason didn’t understand why until he noticed the chilly stare Paul was getting from his wife. It reminded him of Amy’s disapproving looks, and he smothered a grin. He’d never had the opportunity to compare one woman with another this way. If he could somehow figure out what was going on in their heads, it might actually be entertaining.
“Fine.” With a look that was half smile and half grimace, Paul stepped back to let Jason into the working area of the mill. “Whattaya need?”
Chapter Three
Monday morning crept by at a pace that would have embarrassed the slowest turtle on earth. Banished to her office at the rear of the studio by her carpenter, Amy chafed impatiently and tried not to check the old schoolhouse clock on the wall every two seconds.
She was dying to see what he’d come up with for the entryway. Before she went completely bonkers, she decided it was better to distract herself until he was finished. She could use the free time to inventory her costume collection, assessing what Aunt Helen had on hand so she could determine what they needed to buy for the cast.
Because the studio had been built on her aunt’s stellar reputation as a dance instructor, Amy had insisted Aunt Helen remain a silent partner in the business. So every decision was a “they” situation, which was new for someone who’d spent most of her life focused on her own career. It was one of many changes Amy had encountered since coming back to Barrett’s Mill after so many years away.
Like Jason Barrett.
The man couldn’t be any more different from her ex, and she couldn’t help but compare the two. A dancer himself, Devon hadn’t been able to cope with the somber prospect of being shackled to a wife who was so limited physically. He bolted shortly after her grim final diagnosis, taking his great-grandmother’s engagement ring with him.
Since then, the men who’d crossed her path had been either medical professionals or old friends who viewed her as more of a younger sister than a romantic interest. Heartbroken by Devon’s betrayal, her new hands-off status with the male species actually suited her just fine. She had no intention of letting another one close enough to hurt her by taking off just when she needed him most.
Not that Jason fell into that category, she reminded herself as she eased out of her chair. In a few short days, he’d proven himself not only respectful but dependable, two qualities she valued in anyone. On her way into the storeroom, she made several attempts to classify him based on other guys she’d known, but came up empty. Then she heard his teasing voice in her mind.
And here I thought we were friends.
Smiling to herself, she decided he was indeed her friend, one she might enjoy getting to know better. After all, she mused as she began pairing up satin slippers, you never knew when a big, strong carpenter might come in handy.
From the doorway, she heard a low whistle and turned to find him staring into the oversize closet. “It looks like a cotton-candy machine blew up in here.”
The comment was so spot-on, she couldn’t help laughing. “I guess it does. That’s what happens when you cast too many sugar-plum fairies.”
“How many extra do you have?”
Glancing up, she quickly did the math. “Ten, I think.”
“Why didn’t you just make them something else? Save yourself a little netting?”
“Because all the girls wanted to be Clara or a sugar-plum fairy. For this production, no one’s en pointe, and only Heidi Peterson could manage the basics for Clara. That means I need lots of these,” she added, fluffing the layers of pink tulle hanging on the rack.
Something in his expression shifted, and he took a step inside the cramped room. “You mean, you adjusted the traditional cast so they could play the roles they wanted?”
“Of course. They’re kids, and it’s Christmas.” Baffled by his reaction to her scaled-down production, she frowned. “Why?”
“Because that’s the last thing I’d expect from a perfectionist like you.”
The gold in his eyes glittered with an emotion she couldn’t begin to define, and she found herself caught up in the hypnotic warmth of his gaze. He didn’t move toward her, but his imposing presence filled the room with something that was more than physical. In a jolt of understanding, she recognized that it came from a heart so generous, he’d volunteered his time and talents to a stranger simply because she needed his help. Instinctively, she knew he was someone who treated people well as a matter of principle, not as a means to an end.
The kind of man who’d treasure the woman fortunate enough to be the one he loved.
That realization struck her with a certainty so powerful, it actually knocked her back a step. Trying to regain her perspective, she dragged her eyes away and made a show of hunting for the slipper that matched the one still clutched in her hand. “Did you need something?”
“Your stamp of approval.” Cocking his arm, he offered it to her with a bright grin. “Wanna come see?”
She did, very much, but she was hesitant to take his arm. Since she couldn’t come up with a way to refuse it politely, she fell back on logic. “That’s sweet, but we can’t fit through that door side by side.”
“Got me there. Ladies first, then.”
The way he kept referring to her as a lady made Amy want to giggle, and she firmly tamped down the impulse. He was obviously trying to charm her, but it would work only if she let it. She’d handled many situations like this in the past, and she was well aware that keeping him at a safe distance was the best approach.
But it wasn’t half as much fun as going along, she admitted with a muted sigh. Being sensible could be such a killjoy. Before they turned the corner to enter the front section of the studio, he abruptly stopp
ed walking.
“Is something wrong?” she asked, standing on tiptoe to look past him. Big as he was, she couldn’t see a thing, and she started to worry. “It all fell down, didn’t it?”
“That’s insulting,” he informed her with a good-natured chuckle, “but since you don’t know me very well, I’ll let you get by with it. Close your eyes.”
“Why?”
“So you’ll be surprised.”
He said that as if it should have been obvious to her, and she felt a twinge of regret for not sharing his enthusiasm for what he’d built. She was the one who’d asked him to do it, and she knew she should be more excited. Sadly, since her dream of dancing had ended up wrapped around a light pole outside D.C., it was all she could do to keep trudging forward.
“I’m not very fond of surprises,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “I much prefer it when things go according to plan.”
Most of the people she knew would bristle at that or chide her for being a control freak. But not this guy. Instead, he gave her an encouraging smile. “My sister-in-law, Chelsea, used to be like that before Paul showed her how much fun she was missing.”
“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”
“Just that folks can change, is all. Now, close your eyes.”
She couldn’t understand why it meant so much to him, but he’d put in a lot of work and hadn’t charged her a dime. The least she could do was humor him. “Okay, they’re closed.”
Unfortunately, that threw off her equilibrium, and she felt as if she was going to fall. The sensation was alarming, and she clutched his arm more tightly to maintain her balance. It reminded her of the torturous first steps after the surgery that had shored up her spine but ended her career, and she felt a cold sweat breaking out on her face.
“You’re all right, Amy,” Jason murmured in a gentle drawl near her ear. “I’ve got you.”
Sure enough, he was bracing her with one strong arm, and she was stunned to find it wasn’t scary at all. Not trusting herself to speak without a whimper, she nodded and let him lead her through the studio and out the front door.
Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday FamilySugar Plum SeasonHer Cowboy HeroSmall-Town Fireman Page 24
