by Loree Lough
Bryce passed the time by checking every power tool on the shelves. Miraculously, none were beyond repair. A little sharpening here, a little sanding and oil there, and he could get down to the business of building one-of-a-kind furniture.
It wasn’t easy, but he made a point of staying away from Rudolph’s and finish up the interview. When he couldn’t stand the suspense a minute longer, he tidied the work bench and headed for Rudolph’s.. At least until four o’clock. By then, Olive would have had more than enough time to review Sam Sinclair’s résumé
“So, how’d it go?” he asked, even before the shop’s door banged closed behind him.
Wearing her usual happy grin, Olive winked. “You’ll be happy to know we’ve got a brand-new full-time manager.”
“Full-time? I though we advertised for part-time.”
“Sam was able to work a full schedule, and I thought it best. Frees you up to spend as much time as possible in your shop.”
“Starting when?”
“Eight tomorrow morning.”
He heaved a deep sigh. “That’s a relief. Thanks for handling the interview. It’s been so long since I did any real work around here that I doubt I’d know what to tell—or ask—a job candidate.”
“Well, you’re not off the hook, nephew. Not by a long shot! You’re the owner of this establishment, and that means you’re the one who’ll have to check on h—”
“No problem. At least you’ve spared me the monotony of being here all day, every day.”
“You’ll get your freedom after you’ve opened the shop tomorrow and spent the day giving Sam the nickel tour.”
“No problem,” he said again, because how long could that take? An hour? Two at most before he could return to the garage and start sketching the plans for the highboy he intended to make.
He popped a kiss to Olive’s cheek. “Thanks, old girl. You’re the best.”
“Who’re you callin’ old?” she asked, feigning a frown.
Bryce headed up the stairs to his apartment, whistling the tune to “From the Halls of Montezuma.” Something told him that tonight, he’d get the best night’s sleep he’d had in ages.
Bryce woke half an hour before the alarm was set to chime, feeling refreshed and rested. Two cups of coffee and a bowl of cereal later, he decided to pass the time before Sam was scheduled to arrive by unpacking the shipment of Santa’s elf ornaments that had been delivered yesterday. As soon as he gave the guy a quick tour of the place, he’d head for the hardware store to make a copy of the keys to the front and rear doors. And from Bryce’s point of view, that couldn’t happen fast enough.
Half an hour and four unpacked boxes later, as the clocks lining Rudolph’s shelves chimed eight times in off-key succession, a young woman entered the shop. Whoa, is she ever easy on the eye, Bryce thought, watching as she shook the wind damage from her mass of ebony curls. He doubted she weighed a hundred pounds, even if she hopped onto the scale carrying that enormous leather purse. For a moment, he found himself picturing the tiny waist that was sure to go with her shapely legs. He watched her glance right, then left, and when she finally spotted him behind the counter, a smile lit up her face. “We’re not officially open for another hour yet,” he said. “Can I help you?”
When she moved closer, he marveled that she did it without sounding like a horse clip-clopping across the floor, despite the heels on her tiny red shoes.
Smiling, she glanced left and right then met his eyes. “What an absolutely adorable shop!”
The music of her voice sang into his ears like a gentle lullaby, and Bryce found himself hoping Sam Sinclair wouldn’t show up on time for work. Because right now, all he wanted to do was find out more about this beauty who hadn’t even seemed to notice his eye patch.
“I’m here to see Mr. Stone?”
Grinning stupidly, Bryce wondered how she knew his name, but before he could phrase the question, she plopped her bag onto the counter with a loud thud and folded creamy white hands, one atop the other, over its handles.
“I’m Sam. Samantha Sinclair? Ms. Stone told me to meet her nephew here at eight….”
Chapter Three
Bryce didn’t know how to feel. Part of him was furious with Olive for hiring a woman. If anybody knew how he felt about working so closely with a female, it should have been his aunt. Mostly, though, he was frustrated with himself, because if he’d taken time to open the attached résumé, as suggested in her cover letter, he might’ve known Sam was short for Samantha. But he’d been so eager to find somebody—anybody—to save him from working indoors that he hadn’t bothered.
Having stammered his way through an awkward introduction, Bryce was now trying his best to be polite to the ridiculously youthful-looking girl as he explained what her duties would be. But after casting a few furtive glances her way, Bryce’s appraisal confirmed his suspicions. Sam didn’t look nearly strong enough to heft cartons and boxes of Christmas stuff, let alone unpack them for display on the shelves. Even if she could handle the physical demands of the job, how much energy would she have left to deal with customers, order merchandise, and balance the books?
If she could balance the books!
Olive had made her choice, and he had little choice but to respect that.
For now.
But the very first time this…this elflike creature messed up, he’d be on her like white on rice. And Olive would have to respect that.
“So, aren’t you at all curious to know why someone with my background is interested in a job in sales?”
Bryce frowned as her voice—which he’d found so musical and appealing just minutes before—interrupted his thoughts. “Your background?”
She raised one eyebrow. “You didn’t read my résumé?”
“Nope.”
“Your aunt warned me you probably hadn’t.” Then, “I came to town to run Silver Bells. My degree is in culinary arts.”
He watched as her smile faded, as her long-lashed eyes flashed with something akin to anger.
“Seems the owner decided to give the job to his nephew, despite the fact that his manager sent me a detailed letter confirming the job.” She shook her head. “I take it Mr. Stubborn-and-Powerful has a lot of control here in North Pole?”
“Only in his own mind,” Bryce said, picturing Dan Brooks, his rival for as long as he could remember. With Dan’s reputation as a womanizer, it was clear the man hadn’t interviewed Sam in person. One look at her, and no way he’d have given the job to his nephew. “How long did you say you’d been in town?”
“Day before yesterday. I can’t tell you what a relief it was when you responded to my email so quickly.” Sam rolled her eyes. “My brothers gave me a month before I ran back to pick up my former—to quote them—‘East Coast pampered lifestyle.’ ” Giggling, she added, “Can you imagine what they’d have said if I told them I couldn’t last even a day?”
Yeah, well, we’ll see if you last a week. Out loud he asked, “Where’s ‘home’?”
“Baltimore. Which you’d know if you’d read my résumé.”
Bryce didn’t quite know how to react to her teasing grin, so he pointed to the baseball cap hanging on the peg behind the door. “Orioles and Ravens, my two favorite teams.”
“Is that so.”
A statement, he noted, not a question. Did it mean she wasn’t a fan, or that she wasn’t interested in the fact that he was a fan? Not that it mattered. Bryce didn’t intend to spend any more time with this girl than was necessary. “Let me show you around before the customers start pouring in.”
“How many people come through here in a day?”
“Depends. A couple hundred during the height of the tourist season, a couple dozen when it isn’t, hardly a soul in the dead of winter.”
Sam brushed her hair back, exposing tiny ears, each with the faintest hit of a point on top. Maybe he’d suggest a uniform to attract more shoppers: green-and-white striped socks and pointy-toed shoes.
“So,”
she said, “is there a formal job description that describes my duties as manager of Rudolph’s?”
“Nah. We don’t stand on formality around here.” Chief Elf, perhaps? he thought with a grin. That elf costume sure would look cute on her….
As a marine captain, Bryce had always taken the safety of the men and women under his charge very seriously, and he’d learned early on that the most efficient way to accomplish this was to separate the hard chargers from the jokers. When Sam stood toe to toe with the hard labor required to run the place, which category would she fall into?
As he tucked her purse under the counter with a quiet oomph, Bryce realized that if she could drag the thing around wherever she went, she just might be able to handle the rigors of the job! And he fervently hoped she would. Because the last thing he needed was to waste time introducing her to the stock and the store, only to have her turn tail and run when the going got tough…and at the height of tourist season, the going would get tough. The question was, did Sam have the courage to handle it? She had basically admitted that she didn’t have the guts to tell her family about the mix-up over her job at the hotel. Which made no sense, since Dan’s decision had nothing to do with her.
Or did it?
“So, why haven’t you told your family about your change of plans?” he asked, leading the way into the storeroom
When she breezed past, he caught a whiff of white orchids, his mother’s favorite scent. He hadn’t thought about that in—in—
“Because as the youngest of eight kids—and the only girl—they think I need protecting, like I’m some sort of empty-headed little weakling who’s made of spun glass.”
Were her brothers just being guys? he wondered. Or had her behavior inspired their attitude? Obviously, they’d never lifted that suitcase she called a purse.
Sam ran her fingertips along a shelf edge and then pulled a tissue from her jacket pocket and wiped dust from her fingertips. She looked around the room, nodding and muttering “Mmmhmm” and “Ah” as her gaze traveled the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling shelves. “Soon as I get the lay of the land around here, I’ll get busy on this place. Whipping it into shape shouldn’t be all that different from organizing a professional kitchen.” And then, as if on cue, her stomach growled.
“Sorry,” she said, grinning as she patted it, “but I didn’t make time for breakfast this morning.”
Bryce was about to point out she’d skipped the most important meal of the day when she gave him a quick once-over, starting with his well-buffed loafers and ending at the collar of his polo shirt. He braced himself for the “poor baby” comment that would surely follow when those blue eyes of hers made their way to his patch.
“And here I thought I was the only person in America who ironed creases into her jeans. Better keep your distance, boss,” she teased, “’cause those pants of yours are sharp enough to draw blood!”
Chuckling, he leaned on the doorjamb as she continued her inspection. No doubt he’d rack up his share of frustration teaching her the ropes. Might even feel annoyance from time to time. But something told him that the one thing he wouldn’t feel while working with Samantha Sinclair was boredom.
After three hours of tossing and turning, Sam gave up trying to put her handsome boss out of her mind. Climbing out of bed, she wrapped herself in a thick pink robe and flicked on the lamp behind her driver’s seat. Plopping down at the tiny table, she tried to read her Bible. But not even her usual favorites from scripture could keep her from thinking about Bryce Stone.
All during his tour of Rudolph’s, she’d hoped he would explain why he wore the mysterious black patch over his left eye. His stance, close-cropped haircut, and occasional use of military terms told her he’d probably been a soldier. Plus, he reminded her of her youngest brother, who’d served a long harrowing year in Iraq. Bill hated talking about his time over there, unless, of course, he brought it up. So Sam hadn’t asked Bryce about the patch or the angry scar visible beneath it.
It hadn’t been easy, as he described North Pole’s weather and explained how daylight lasted twenty-one hours a day this time of year, to tamp down an overwhelming desire to comfort him…though she didn’t know from what. Bryce’s demeanor hinted at a past fraught with physical and emotional pain, and despite his polite smile, no joy glittered in his beautiful brown eye.
Was it her fault that something in her DNA made her want to fix things for people? Maybe she’d have been better off taking her mother’s advice to study nursing or become some sort of therapist. “Put all that empathy of yours to good and sensible use!” her dad had tacked on.
Suddenly, a weird thought crossed her mind, and it got her heart to beating double-time….
What if Bryce hadn’t been a soldier after all? What if he’d earned that stiff-backed posture in jail? She’d seen more than enough old black-and-white movies to know that marching around the exercise yard for hours on end wasn’t just a way for wardens and guards to keep control of wayward convicts. It was also how the cons built iron-strong muscles to defend themselves…from one another. So what if the injury had been the result of a prison yard battle?
Sam jumped up and checked the RV’s front and rear doors. Assured that both were securely locked, she returned to the table where her Bible lay open to the book of Psalms. Catching sight of her worried expression in the reflection of the window, she laughed out loud. Because really, what crime could a man like that have committed to earn a prison sentence? Besides, his aunt seemed like a really sweet woman. Surely she wouldn’t have exposed Sam to danger, even to protect her nephew.
Right?
“Oh, grow up, Sam,” she scolded herself. And yawning, she stretched and thanked the Lord for the sleepy feeling that finally began to settle over her. Lights out, she padded back to her narrow bedroom and climbed under the covers, smiling as she pictured the town. From the thatched roof of the log cabin Welcome Center to streets with names like Mistletoe Drive, Snowman Lane, and Kris Kringle Turnaround, there didn’t seem to be a single drawback to living in North Pole, Alaska!
So why, she wondered as drowsiness deepened and the image of Bryce Stone floated in her mind, did it seem that her new boss didn’t like his hometown?
Chapter Four
Of all the days to oversleep, why this one? Sam wondered, rushing through her morning routine. The only upside to forgetting to set her alarm was that in her rush to meet Bryce at the shop at eight sharp, she’d all but forgotten why she’d had to take the job in the first place. Besides, it was impossible to dwell on negative stuff when at every turn, she was faced with colorful decorations reminiscent of Baltimore’s 33rd Street Christmas display. Candy canes, elves and reindeer, Santas and Mrs. Clauses adorned just about every free space in town, and the pleasant expressions of shopkeepers were matched only by the bright faces of tourists.
Wearing khaki pants and a long-sleeved white shirt, she scrunched her hair into a high ponytail and laced up her sneakers before setting out on the four-block walk from the hotel parking lot to Snowman Lane. In no time, she found herself at Rudolph’s Christmas Emporium.
Her joy at the prospect of working here was dampened by thoughts of what her father would think about her new job. “So let me get this straight,” he’d no doubt say, “I helped fund your degree in culinary arts so you could work in a Christmas gift shop?” She looked up at the huge reindeer overhead and grinned. “It’s okay, Rudolph. Dad doesn’t mean any disrespect.”
“Are you planning to stand out here and talk to that big ugly deer all day?”
She’d have recognized that voice anywhere. “Have you ever thought of becoming a DJ?” she asked, grabbing the silver handle on the big green door and looking over her shoulder to where Bryce stood on the sidewalk behind her.
“A DJ?” His brow furrowed. “No. Why would I?”
With a voice like that? Was he kidding? Shrugging, Sam marched into the shop. “Or you might consider a career in espionage,” she said, stepping into the shop, �
�since you seem to have a talent for sneaking up on—”
“Sam!” Olive hollered. “You look even prettier today than you did yesterday.”
Sam would have thanked Olive for the compliment but found herself smothered in an enormous motherly hug instead.
“I can’t tell you what a pleasure it’s gonna be, having somebody to talk to while I work!” Grabbing Sam’s hand, Olive led the way to the counter and relieved her of the big purse. “My goodness, how does a tiny thing like you lug this big satchel around all day?”
“Careful planning,” Sam said with a giggle. “It helps that I only need to lug it short distances.”
Olive’s merry laughter led the way into the storeroom, where she stowed Sam’s purse on a shelf behind the door. “We have virtually no crime here in North Pole,” she said in a loud whisper, “but I see no point in leaving temptation out in plain sight.” Then she clapped her hands. “So, what has that nephew of mine told you about me?”
“Only that you’ve run Rudolph’s single-handedly for the past five years.”
“Accent on single-handedly.” And narrowing eyes the same shade of brown as Bryce’s, Olive jerked her head in his direction. “Even when he’s here, he isn’t. Doesn’t like being cooped up inside, doesn’t like handling what he calls ‘dainty little knickknacks,’ doesn’t like—” Olive stopped talking long enough to aim a phonily stern expression in Bryce’s direction. “Why are you still here?” she teased.
One broad shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “Guess I thought I could mind the register while you show Sam here what’s what.”
“I think we can handle both.” She gave Bryce a gentle shove toward the door. “This place ain’t big enough for the three of us, so why don’t you see about cleaning up that nasty garage.” To Sam, she said, “He’s been threatening to turn it into a woodworking shop for years.” Eyes on her nephew again, she added, “You’re gonna need something to put food in your belly once this place sells.”
