In contrast, this place looked like a movie set from the fifties.
They passed a bakery with trays of various cookies and a frothy-looking wedding cake on display in its window. Weddings. Look what all three of Mike’s had led to, divorce and child support. Guy would have liked to have had a kid or two but to have a kid you had to stick it out with a woman. Fast relationships, easily begun and easily terminated were more Guy’s speed so, realistically, kids were probably out of the picture.
They slid past the rest of the downtown—a hardware store, a bank, a couple of churches and a couple of restaurants. The post office had a wreath on its door. And there on the corner was the lone gas station and next to it Bob’s Auto Repair.
“Thanks for the lift,” he said, once she stopped the car. He was more than ready to get out. The smell of her perfume and his unease didn’t mix well.
She opened her door as he opened his. “I’ll introduce you.”
Like he needed an introduction to a car mechanic? He started to tell her that wasn’t necessary but she was already moving toward the door. Little Miss Helpful.
With her walking in front of him, he couldn’t help but notice that Little Miss Helpful had nice legs, all wrapped in tight denim. And a cute butt peeking out from under her red coat.
Never mind her butt, he scolded himself, and followed her in.
The office area was small with a counter and a couple of chairs. Between those chairs an ancient end table held a stack of car and hunting magazines. A tiny tree sat on the counter decorated with car ornaments, probably the work of the owner’s wife. The smell of motor oil drifted out to them.
And so did a man in the traditional grease-smudged mechanic’s uniform who came in from the car bay to greet them. He was husky and had arms like tree trunks, the kind of guy who probably didn’t need a jack to lift a car. He was wiping his hands with a rag and wearing the necessary greet-the-customer smile. At the sight of Little Miss Helpful the wattage on that smile turned up. Well, who could blame him?
“Hey, Livi,” he said.
If there’d been any doubt about how the man felt toward this woman, his tone of voice cleared it up. This was a man in love. So, were they a duo?
“Hi, Morris,” she said easily. Casually, the way you’d speak to a friend.
Livi Berg was not a woman in love. In like, yeah, but not love. Poor schlub.
“This is Joe Ford,” she said. “I found him stranded on the highway a few miles back. His car’s broken.”
“Serpentine belt,” Guy said, figuring he needed to speak for himself.
Livi inserted herself back into the conversation. “Can you tow his car in?”
Morris was looking him over, probably wondering what kind of car he drove, just how friendly he’d gotten with Livi on the ride in and how soon he could get out of town. Don’t worry. I’m not staying.
“I need to get back on the road as soon as possible,” Guy said, part explanation, part assurance. “Trying to get to Idaho for Christmas.” See? Urgent need here.
“Kind of a roundabout way,” the dude said suspiciously. As if Guy had planned to break down outside his town and waylay the woman of his dreams.
“He had to make a detour to Arlington,” explained Little Miss Helpful.
Morris Bentley nodded, taking that in. “What kind of wheels you driving?”
“Maserati GranTurismo.”
Two eyebrows rose. “Yeah?”
“Can you tow me in?”
“Sure. Can’t get you fixed right away, though. We’ll have to special order that belt.”
No surprise there, but it still didn’t make Guy happy. “How long will that take?”
“We can order it today. Have it by Monday, Tuesday at the latest.”
Tuesday? “Tuesday’s Christmas Eve,” Guy pointed out.
“We’ll get you on the road as fast as we can.”
Stuck in this town for the weekend. Yeah, that would be fun.
But he’d have to make the best. He had his laptop and he’d just downloaded the latest John Grisham novel onto his phone. He’d survive.
“Is there a motel in town?” he asked.
“The River’s Bend is nice,” said Livi. “It’s just outside of town. I’ll be happy to give you a lift.”
Morris, the car repairman, didn’t look happy about her offer. Don’t worry, bud. She’s cute but I’m not interested. The girl was sweet as sugar icing on a cake. But he’d had a glimpse of what was under that icing. This was a woman who always had to get her way. And he was willing to bet she had a temper. He could only imagine the fit she’d thrown in her office when he’d turned down her donation request. The faux polite email he’d received in response to his personal donation had been laced with vitriol and had spoken volumes about what lay behind that pretty mask.
“I’ll just hitch a ride with the tow truck,” he said. “I need to get my computer and duffel bag anyway.”
“Oh, Morris can drop that by,” she said breezily. “Can’t you, Morris?”
Morris’s brows dipped in sync with his mouth. Guy caught the look she shot him. Just do it. Oh yeah, this dude was one whipped puppy.
“You don’t need to,” Guy said in an effort to save him.
“It’s no big deal,” the mechanic said with a shrug of his boulder-sized shoulders.
“Okay. Thanks. And how about a loaner?”
Morris was shaking his head before Guy could even finish his sentence. “Sorry, they’re all being used.”
It took superhuman strength for Guy not to start turning the air blue.
“I really don’t mind driving you to the motel,” said Livi.
It was either take her offer or walk. Morris looked like the only place he wanted to drive Guy was off a cliff.
“Thanks,” Guy said to her. Then to the mechanic, “What do I owe you?”
Morris quoted a price and Guy reached for his wallet and his charge card.
Whoa, don’t be doing that. The last thing he wanted was to pay for something in front of Olivia Berg as Guy Hightower, Scrooge of Seattle. He pulled out a hundred-dollar bill and told Bentley to keep the change. The man deserved some kind of compensation for his trouble, and Guy was betting there wouldn’t be any coming from Little Miss Helpful. Not the kind Bentley wanted, anyway.
He took the money, looking torn between gratitude and resentment.
“Morris always goes the extra mile,” Livi explained as she led Guy back out to her car.
He did for her, obviously. Some men had no cojones.
* * *
Livi hoped she wasn’t coming across as pushy. She really was trying to help the stranger.
But she was trying to help Christmas from the Heart, as well. She was no fool and she knew a potential donor when she saw one. Fancy car, expensive clothes, and now whipping out hundred-dollar bills like they were ones. The man had some money. Maybe he worked for a big corporation or owned a small business. Maybe he had connections. Whatever the case, she intended to find out. And get a donation.
Heaven knew they needed it. Her poor nonprofit was running on fumes. She thought of Joe Ford’s Maserati stuck by the side of the road. That was Christmas from the Heart if they didn’t find some new contributors. This man’s car breaking down right outside of town was a gift, no doubt about it.
“You never did tell me. What do you do for a living, Joe?” she asked.
* * *
Shit, here it came. He’d known it would only be a matter of time until she hit him up for money. “I...” What to say? He could almost smell smoke as the wheels spun in his brain. He wasn’t good at improvising. Stay somewhat close to the truth, he advised himself. “My family has a small company.”
Livi Berg would probably beg to differ. She saw Hightower Enterprises as a corporate giant. But size was a subjective thing.
/> “What does your company do?”
He could practically see her salivating. “A lot of things.”
Thank God she didn’t push it. “It’s a lot of work owning your own company.”
“It’s probably a lot of work running a nonprofit,” he said, trying to shift the attention away from himself. Except did he really want to hear about her nonprofit?
“It is,” she said. “But it’s so satisfying. I love being able to help people in need.”
No kidding. He never would have guessed. It probably made her feel superior to everyone else.
“My great-grandmother actually started Christmas from the Heart,” she went on. “And the women in my family have run it ever since. Many of our donors have been with us since the beginning.” The words, barely out of her mouth, pulled it down at the corners.
Guy braced himself for what was about to come next.
Sure enough. “Sadly, we lost one of our major contributors this year. I’m afraid many families won’t have a very merry Christmas because of it.”
“The business might have had to make some cutbacks. It happens, you know.”
She shook her head vehemently. “Not this business. They’re a giant.”
That had been wrestling with giant problems. “Aren’t there are other charities that can pick up the slack?” She wasn’t the only nonprofit in the world. In fact, no matter how highly she thought of herself and her organization, there were plenty of others. He knew, because Hightower got requests from all of them.
“Not around here.” She sighed. “I have put in a few calls though and I’m hoping we’ll get some help. But there are always so many needs this time of year, you know.”
She made it sound like a question. “Yeah, there are. And I’m sure the company that had to cut you loose is doing its part to help meet some somewhere.”
She said nothing to that but her smile stayed away.
It was dusk when they pulled up in front of a one-level relic from the sixties perched alongside the Skykomish River. The parking lot was filled with cars and potholes that even the snow couldn’t hide. “A lot of people come here for cross-country skiing and snowshoeing,” she explained as she eased the car around the worst of the holes to where the office was located. A neon No Vacancy sign greeted them from the window.
“Oh dear,” she murmured.
“Is there any other place in town?” he asked.
She started to shake her head, then her face lit up. “Actually, there is.”
“Think they’ll have room?”
“I know they will.”
Back out they went, dodging potholes, then she turned her car on the road toward town once more. He hadn’t seen any place when they’d driven in. Maybe there was a bed-and-breakfast somewhere. Or maybe she knew someone on Airbnb.
Sure enough, once back in the heart of town they turned away from the main street and drove into the residential district, passing old Victorians, simple cottages and Craftsman-style homes all nestled together. Many of them looked thirsty for paint but almost all of them had lights strung along their roofline or a wreath on the door. One had a collection of inflatable figures on the lawn, and the residents were in the process of bringing them to life. A Santa sprang up and waved at Guy. Another house had a refrigerator sitting on the front porch.
“That’s Grandma Bell,” Livi explained. “She’s a bit of a hoarder. Her son’s coming later this week to haul that old fridge away.”
What to say to that? Nothing, Guy decided.
A couple of driveways held new cars, but most of what he saw were older models. Pine River was an old, tired town in need of a facelift and trying to make do with cheap makeup, all the while hoping some company would come along and want to start a relationship.
As if reading his mind, Livi said, “I know it doesn’t look like much but the people here are great. And they really pull together.”
“So, do all the houses look about like this?” That probably sounded snobby.
“Most of the homes are older,” she said. “We’ve got a small development to the east that has newer houses. They’re nice,” she added, “but they don’t have character like a lot of these.”
They probably didn’t have energy inefficient windows or asbestos paint, either.
“Here we are,” she said, pulling up in front of a blue Victorian with gingerbread trim painted white. Icicle lights hung from the roofline and there was a wreath on the front door. Unlike some of the other houses he’d seen, this one had been well maintained.
“Is this a bed-and-breakfast?” he asked as they went up the front walk.
“It is now.”
“I don’t understand.”
“This is my family’s home.”
He was staying with Livi Berg? Oh no. Hell, no.
7
Livi opened the front door but Guy’s feet remained frozen on the front porch. “I can’t stay here.”
“It’s no trouble, really. It’s just Dad and me and we’ve got a guest room.”
Probably something all girlie that doubled as a sewing room. Livi Berg looked like the type who sewed. Or quilted. Or whatever. She probably baked, too. A vision of frosted sugar cookies danced into Guy’s head and he pushed it firmly away.
“There must be someplace else,” he said. She looked hurt and he realized he sounded churlish. “I mean...” I don’t want to stay with you and your dad and hear about your stupid charity and feel like a shit when I have no reason to feel like a shit. Gremlins. Gremlins had sneaked into his car engine and done this to him.
“It’s no bother,” she said, misreading him completely. “In fact, it would be nice.”
Not for him.
She stood in the doorway in her red coat and jeans with boots with fake fur trim and tassels, looking like she was posing for some family-friendly magazine ad. Beyond her, a cozy living room with a worn couch, a recliner and a fireplace beckoned. The mantel was decorated with greenery and a small nativity set. A Christmas tree stood in one corner with presents under it. There was no Christmas tree in his condo. He and his brothers had stopped bothering with presents for each other years ago. He ordered stuff online for the nephews and nieces and had it shipped.
Now she was raising an eyebrow expectantly.
Well, crap. It was either here with Little Miss Helpful and her dad or sleep out in the snow. He stepped through the door and his heart rate skyrocketed like a man in the woods, knowing a grizzly bear lurked somewhere ahead.
* * *
Morris Bentley knew a player when he saw one, and with his fancy car and hundred-dollar bills, this stranger had player written all over him. He was average looking, probably still in his thirties, medium height with brown hair. Well, okay, maybe a little better looking than average. But not that much. Fit enough, but Morris was bigger and could take him easily. Not that Livi had bothered to compare. The wheels said it all, and so had the look she’d given Morris telling him to butt out. He knew she’d be all over moneybags Joe Ford like magnetic slime.
Morris’s jaw clenched as he rumbled Bob’s tow truck down the road. He didn’t like this turn of events, not one bit. Livi had been desperate for new donors ever since that shit at Hightower Enterprises left her hanging, and desperate women sometimes did desperate things. Like getting involved with rich guys who were better at making promises than keeping them. This newcomer looked exotic, and Livi, with her talk of gondolas and Eiffel Towers, craved exotic. She was always binging on that TV show where people looked for houses in far-flung corners of the world.
Why she did was a mystery to Morris. There was nothing wrong with where they lived or the life they had. If she could just get that through her head, they could be so happy together.
It didn’t take him long to spot the stranded sports car, its body slowly getting buried in snow. Red, of course. As he hook
ed the thing up to his winch he put in his request to Santa. Bring that belt fast. The sooner he got this car up and running, the sooner he could get the newcomer out of town.
He towed the rich-boy toy back to the garage and got it into the work bay. His fellow mechanic, Lenny, left the truck he’d been working on to check out the Maserati. “Oh man,” he said reverently. “There’s something you don’t see every day. Man, what I’d give to own a beauty like this.”
Morris had to admit, the car was a work of art, sleek and shiny, and he could only imagine how beautifully it handled. But... “What would you do with a car like this in Pine River?”
“To hell with Pine River. I’d drive to LA, find me a movie star babe and live it up.”
Lenny, with his scrawny bod and scruffy face, wasn’t exactly the stuff movie star babes’ dreams were made of, but Morris didn’t say that. It wasn’t cool to mess with a man’s fantasy.
“Yeah, I wouldn’t mind getting a chance to drive something like this,” he admitted.
“That’ll never happen, not on what we make,” Lenny said, returning to Earth.
Morris shrugged. “I’m okay with what I got.” He had his truck and the 1971 orange Dodge Charger that had been his dad’s. Really, what more did a man need? Fancy foreign jobs like this were nothing but flash for people with cash.
He lifted the hood to confirm that the belt was, indeed, the problem.
“Look at that,” Lenny said.
“Don’t be droolin’ on the engine,” Morris teased.
“Man, I’d love to see the dude who owns this. Sorry I missed him when Livi brought him in.”
“He’s nothing special,” Morris said. “Puts his pants on one leg at a time, just like us.”
“Yeah, but I bet he wears better pants.”
Who cared what he wore?
The rich boy had been right. The belt was, indeed, shot. If only the guy drove the kind of car normal people drove, Morris would have had the belt he needed in stock. He’d have gotten that clown back on the road within the hour.
Christmas from the Heart Page 8
