That honeysuckle scent, Nick had found out, was the shampoo she used. Tonight, that red, curly mass was gleaming around her face, emphasizing her large, blue eyes. She was beautiful, freckles and all. And the soft-pink angora sweater she wore along with black, wool slacks emphasized it. “There’s a bunch of kids down below,” he warned with a grin, stepping inside.
“Oh,” Holly said, “I’m sure. What do you have for our dessert?” she asked, craning her neck, looking up at the pie he held in his hands.
“Pumpkin?”
Her lips drew away from her teeth. “I have whipped cream.”
“Oh,” Nick teased, giving Snowflake an important look, “he’ll like that, too.”
“That,” she said, turning and walking with him into the kitchen, “is because he’s a whipped cream aficionado and you feed his habit, Conway.” They walked down the hall, laughing.
Nick absorbed the lilt of her laughter as he placed the pie on the kitchen counter. “Guilty as charged. Smells good. What did you make?”
“Well, you said you’re a meat-and-potatoes kind of guy, so I slow cooked a roast, potatoes, celery, and carrots.” She moved over to the stove. “I’m in the process of making a nice, dark-brown gravy to go with it.”
How badly Nick wanted to lift his fingers and move that copper hair aside and kiss the slender nape of her neck. What would Holly do if he did something like that? Nick entertained those kinds of thoughts every day he was with her. It was damned tough to keep his hands to himself, to keep his conversations social, not serious or soul-searching. Holly was a complex person. He wanted to know how she saw the world, what she was thinking, and so much more.
While Holly was making the fragrant gravy, the doorbell rang.
“Your turn,” Holly called over her shoulder.
“Yep,” he murmured. Opening the door, Snowflake sat at his side, wriggling his stub. There were two parents, both women, with four children between them. Nick smiled as he put a fresh apple, along with a small candy bar, into each sack. Two of the children came forward to eagerly, spontaneously pet Snowflake. Nick assured the mothers that he wouldn’t bite, so they let their kids pet him.
As he closed the door, he said, “The kids are just as taken with Snowflake as they are with getting the candy.”
Holly poured the finished gravy into a bowl. “I’m not surprised. Snowflake has such a kind face.” She rinsed out her pan in the sink and then added, “Like his master.”
Wandering into the warm kitchen filled with all kinds of delicious fragrances, Nick took the bowl of gravy and added a spoon to it from the drawer. “I’ve never had a woman tell me I had a kind face before.”
Giving him a teasing glance as she rinsed off her hands and dried them on a nearby towel, Holly said, “That was a compliment, by the way.”
“Thanks,” he said, placing the bowl on a metal trivet. Holly had already placed white plates with red roses around them on the table. In many ways, she was very old fashioned, loving antiques and anything from the 1900s. There was no new furniture in her home except for the couch and two matching, overstuffed chairs. Everything else, he’d learned, had come from Candy’s antique store as she saved for the particular piece she wanted to buy.
“Ready to eat?” she asked, coming over to the table.
Nick pulled out the chair for her. “More than ready. Smells great, Holly.”
She gave him a look of thanks and sat down.
In short order, he had a plate filled with steaming mashed potatoes slathered in gravy, two thick slices of beef roast, and several heaping spoonsful of carrots and celery. “You’re a much better cook than I am,” he admitted, smiling into her eyes as she ate daintily.
Snowflake whined, sitting at his right side, looking up and watching as Nick enjoyed his meal.
“Thanks. I love to cook. I don’t get a lot of personal time, as you know, to do that. But when I can get a few uninterrupted hours, I like to make something good to eat.”
Nick knew that she often made salads, tuna fish, or other quick-to-fix foods because of her schedule. “Have you thought of getting a manager in here to help you?”
Shrugging, she licked her lips and then patted them with her paper napkin. “Yes and no. I’ve been doing this ever since I graduated from college. Guess I’m a horse in a harness and I have a fixed routine that works for me, Nick.”
“But it doesn’t give you any downtime for yourself.”
“Oh,” she grimaced, “that . . .”
He knew it was a point of contention with Holly. “I’m pretty good at basic accounting. I might be able to take that over for you. It would free you up a lot, Holly. I see you laboring in your office with those accounting books.”
“Numbers aren’t my thing,” she admitted, scowling. “I mean, I can do it. It’s just no fun, is all.”
“Numbers is something that come easy to me. Would you like me to maybe help you out a little?”
“But you’re so busy yourself, Nick!” She gave him an exasperated look. “Talk about the pot calling the kettle black! You run from a class back here, help me load up the dinners, and we’re off. You don’t stop until we get back here, and then you have a lot of studying and homework assignments to do.” She shook a finger at him. “I’ve seen a light on in your apartment until three a.m. some mornings.”
“Caught,” he said, chuckling. “I’m learning to write code. It takes time. But I’m getting better at it and I have an affinity for it. I don’t mind the late hours.”
“But you’re not getting the sleep you need.”
He warmed to her concern. “My mom told me the other day when I dropped in to see her, that because I’m in my twenties, I can burn the candle at both ends and get away with it. And if I have to do that, Holly, I will. A two-year degree in computer science will support me the rest of my life. We’re already getting contacted by Apple people. They’re looking to hire us after the first year.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” he said, “that’s kinda nice. And their pay is good.”
“Well,” she said, “will that mean you have to move to Silicon Valley?”
He saw something in her blue eyes that moved him—tension, maybe? “No, I talked to their rep about it and she said that often things can be handled long-distance and there’s no move involved.”
“Do you want to move? I mean, you just got home, Nick.”
There was something else going on here and he couldn’t figure it out. “I have a choice to make, but I know my mom needs help. I was born here and I like the town and its people. I’ve been gone because of my military service and I don’t think my mother would be happy if I left a year from now.”
“Oh, good,” she whispered, relief in her voice, “I’m glad. I want you to stay, too, Nick.”
His heart stirred. There was such sincerity in her voice and in her eyes that he almost reached out to graze her pink cheek.
“I could still help you out, Holly.” He saw her become flustered, as if she wanted to say more to him, but just then, the doorbell rang.
“My turn,” she said, getting up, and putting the paper napkin beside her plate.
Snowflake quickly got up, following Holly to the door. He sat obediently near her right leg.
Nick’s brows rose. Lately, Snowflake had been shadowing Holly whenever he was around her. Normally his dog was always walking at his right side, or with him. This change was unusual, but he wasn’t disturbed by it. Snowflake had taken to Holly, just as he had. Maybe his dog knew more than he did? There was something new and provocative in her eyes earlier, as if she didn’t want him to leave. He’d found out through Myra, weeks earlier, in a conversation that Holly had no man in her life presently, and hadn’t for at least a year. She told him about the local accountant who was smug and arrogant with her, and that she’d quit seeing him. Maybe her comment about him having a kind face had something more behind it? Nick hadn’t seen this accountant, James Westmore, in town yet. Did she keep herself
busy so she wouldn’t have time for any kind of relationship?
Watching from the table, he saw six children, ages seven to eleven, all crowd in and eagerly pet friendly Snowflake. His best friend loved children, but he always had, even over in Afghanistan. An idea slowly gelled in his mind. When Holly closed the door, coming to sit down and finish off her meal, he decided to ask her.
“My parents and I are having Thanksgiving at our home. Would you like to come over and be with us? I know we have to deliver turkey dinners from about four p.m. to the shut-ins, but after that?” he asked, holding her gaze.
“Did Sue invite me?” she asked a bit nervously.
“Uh . . . no. I’m inviting you, Holly.” He saw surprise and then happiness gleam in her eyes.
“Oh, I’d love that. Thank you!”
He finished off his food, placing the plate aside. “I know you don’t have family here, but I wasn’t sure if you were going somewhere else for the holiday.”
“No . . . I don’t have anywhere to go. Usually, I spend time with the shut-ins, keeping them company, listening to their great stories and adventures about when they were younger.”
Trying to tamp down his enthusiasm, he said, “I know my parents would love to have you with us.”
“I would love to be there with all of you. Thank you.”
He heard a slight quaver in her tone, saw a sheen of tears for a moment in her eyes and then, it was gone. How badly he wanted to wrap his arms around Holly. “I guess I can’t even imagine what it would be like to lose both of my parents.” Shaking his head, he offered, “But you know, you can consider my parents like your own.”
Reaching out, Holly touched his forearm for a fleeting moment. “I know that, Nick. Your mom and dad are two of the most generous people in town.”
“Mom closes up the diner for Thanksgiving because she wants to cook for us at home.”
“And I’m glad she does that. Sue doesn’t get much time off, either.”
“Not if you own a small business,” Nick agreed. “Well then, it’s settled. We’ll go over to my folks’ home about six p.m. on Thanksgiving.”
“Yes, that’s wonderful. We’ll have everything done around the charity and all my elders fed and happy, with pumpkin pie for dessert. Is there something I should bring for the dinner?”
“No, thanks. Just yourself. For once, let someone else do the cooking and you just enjoy your time with all of us.”
Chapter Four
The mid-November sky was dark, flakes falling heavily as Nick drove the van back to the charity on slushy, wet Main Street. He was concerned about Holly, who had been distracted since he’d come in to help her mid-afternoon. It wasn’t like her to be forgetful. She hadn’t been her normal, upbeat self with the elders tonight, either. Snowflake, who now had fallen completely under her spell, remained close to her. Nick wished he had his dog’s ability to read subtle human emotions. If only his dog could talk.
The sulfur lights highlighted the plowed snow pushed up along the two-lane highway between the center of town and the Delos charity. All the shops were closed by five p.m. during the winter months. In the summer, when tourists came, the shops remained opened until nine p.m. For the small business owners, tourists’ money during the summer months tided them over through the slack months of winter. And Nick knew winter could stick around for a long time in the mountains of western Montana.
“Are you feeling okay?” he asked Holly, catching her shadowed gaze as the lights flashed through the windshield.
“I’m just . . . well . . . just thinking about something,” she murmured.
Frowning, he took a left onto a side street where the charity was located. The street had yet to be plowed by the city’s only snow plow. Slowing, he drove carefully. Luckily, Holly had hired a college student who worked by the hour to keep their large parking lot clear of snow. “Are you feeling okay? I mean, do you have a cold coming on or something?”
She shifted in the seat nervously. Then, she suggested, “Why don’t you come over for a cup of hot chocolate after we get home, Nick? I’ll tell you more about it then, okay?”
“Sure,” he said, trying to curb his concern. Snowflake, who rode in the back seat, whined, which wasn’t like him. This was something serious, he realized. Over the last few months, he’d grown closer to Holly and knew that she wasn’t one to open up much about her private life. However, he thought he knew what was going on: it was the loss of her parents during the holiday season.
How would he feel if the holidays were coming up and he had no home to go to, and no parents to share his life with? He couldn’t even imagine such a scenario. How could Holly deal with it? Maybe the season brought up more of her grief and loss than usual. Nick wanted to be there for her in whatever capacity she’d allow him.
Shooing Holly from the van after they parked, he told her to go to her apartment and watched as Snowflake trotted along at her side. He quickly carried the empty boxes to the kitchen on the first floor, and saw that Myra had come in earlier and cleaned up everything. The kitchen was prepped for tomorrow morning. If he hadn’t been working with Delos now, from afar, he wouldn’t have had any idea what it took to run a charity. It was only as good as the people who volunteered their time and hearts to it, he realized.
Wanting to finish with business, Nick hurried to put the rest of the items away and closed up the kitchen for the night. His heart and mind centered on Holly. She brought such lightness, such happiness to him—and to everyone else. The shut-ins doted on her as if she were their beloved granddaughter. How they looked forward to her arrival—and of course, Snowflake had become the doggie star of their team. Nick didn’t mind being the person who carried in everything, got the dinner ready on a tray, and brought it over to the elderly while Holly talked with them. He knew someday he’d be old, too. He hoped he never ended up like this, although from what Holly told him, these elders were far better off than many others who didn’t have a local charity to support them.
Still, it was a lonely existence, and Nick was too much of a team person to think about sitting twenty-four hours a day in an apartment without anyone else to talk to or share things with. That was why Snowflake was so intrinsic to their little three-person team. This thought made him smile a little. Even his dog was more relaxed, and his PTSD was not as bad as before. Neither was Nick’s. He wasn’t sure how much of it was because of Holly, or whether he was simply adjusting to civilian life. He also had the love and support of his parents. Even though they couldn’t understand his nightmares, flashbacks, or his emotional ups and downs, they were there for him. That counted for a lot!
Holly, however, had no one to fall back on when she was down or needed support. More and more, Nick wanted to be that person and they were growing closer every day. But as he hurried up the stairs to his apartment to get cleaned up before going to see her, he realized he wanted to become so much more than that to Holly.
The wind was picking up, the snowflakes striking his face after he cleaned up, changed clothes, and walked down the inside passageway toward Holly’s apartment door. He knocked and she answered, Snowflake wagging his stubby tail in greeting, his blue eyes shining with happiness upon seeing his master once more.
“Come in,” she said, stepping aside.
Nick came in, wiped his feet on the heavy rug, and hung his coat on a nearby hook. “Smells good,” he told her, following her into the kitchen. Holly was making her fabulous hot chocolate in a saucepan, stirring in the various ingredients. She didn’t like boxed or packaged foods, preferring to make things from scratch. He saw their two cups sitting at the table. “Can I help?”
“No,” she said, forcing a slight smile. “Go sit down.”
“I see you got the marshmallows out. One for Snowflake?” He grinned, trying to ease her serious expression.
“One for him. Want to grab the whipped cream out of the fridge for us?”
“Sure.” He noticed Holly had put on her gray, loose sweatpants, her feet i
n a pair of comfy slippers. More than anything, he liked to see her shoulder length hair down and curling around her face.
He had changed into a pair of tan chinos and a clean, black jersey. Often, food would get on his clothes here and there as he helped feed the shut-ins. Boxes weren’t the ideal way to transport the warmed aluminum containers with their plastic covers. More than once, Nick had opened one and spilled some of the contents on himself in the process. Tonight was no exception, although he was getting better at handling their meals. Snowflake always hung around and if a speck of food dropped to the floor by accident, he was there immediately to gobble it up. Nothing went to waste in his dog’s world and he grinned at the thought.
Within minutes, they were sitting at the table, their elbows almost touching. Snowflake positioned himself between them, looking up at them expectantly. “So,” Nick said, catching her gaze, “what’s going on, Holly?”
“I haven’t told you everything about Noelle,” she admitted, her voice soft and hesitant. Wrapping her slender hands around the cup, she said, “I don’t like talking about this because it always upsets me.”
Nodding, he said, “You always talk about her in the past tense.” He saw her lips press together for a moment.
“Yes,” she murmured, lifting her chin, holding his gaze. “After our parents died, Noelle told me she was being given an honorable medical discharge. I didn’t understand what it meant.”
“It meant whatever her diagnosis, it was interfering with her ability to work in the military,” Nick provided. “You said she had PTSD?”
“Yeah,” Holly muttered, rubbing her face. “Really bad.”
“Were you shocked when she told you she was no longer in the military?”
Miserably, Holly nodded. “Was I ever . . . I mean, it’s all Noelle knew. She was a Navy medic. She was always so confident, believed she could do anything, Nick, and now, here she was broken.”
Grimly, he reached out, tucking her hand into his for a moment. Nick cherished these moments with Holly because the trust between them had grown and she would sometimes reach out and touch his hand or arm. Squeezing her hand, he forced himself to release it and said, “PTSD breaks even the strongest person, Holly.”
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