by Loree Lough
The look of confusion that crossed Bryce’s face when he walked into the storeroom and found his aunt and future manager doubled over with laughter made them giggle all the harder.
“Women,” was all he said as they wiped tears of hilarity from their eyes.
Chapter Five
As neighbors went, Sam had been a good one. Quiet and courteous, she wasn’t one to play loud music or turn the TV up full blast, and she’d never run the vacuum or garbage disposal after supper. Several times, while retrieving her own mail, she’d grabbed his, too, and left it on the kitchen table where he was sure to find it, propped against the Mr. and Mrs. Claus salt and pepper shakers.
Once, Bryce found a plate of homemade chocolate chip cookies beside his daily delivery with a note taped to the plastic wrap that read, “I’m supposed to be on a diet, so do me a favor and take a few of these off my…hips!” In place of a signature, she’d drawn a smiley face—wearing an eye patch.
Olive had told him with words and gestures what a good choice they’d made, hiring Sam. His aunt also made it clear that their new manager was starting to press for details: how long he planned to keep the shop before putting it on the market, how much notice he’d give her once he did, and whether there was any chance at all he might change his mind.
In truth, Bryce didn’t know the answers. But as the days passed and Sam forged order from clutter and organization from chaos, he began to believe that maybe he could hold on to the shop and eke a meager living out of furniture making.
As his only real link to his parents, Rudolph’s had at least as many good memories as bad. And besides, Sam had, in just a few weeks on the job, turned the place into a selling machine by stocking merchandise that would appeal to younger shoppers. She’d crafted artsy flyers to guide tour buses to the store and designed a Web site where customers from around the globe could order gifts and collectibles “Straight from Santa’s home town!”
If only he hadn’t discovered a “minus” to balance every “plus” of her personality…
Bryce had let it slide when she left the milk to spoil on the counter. Hadn’t said a word when he found a stale, half-eaten sandwich on the table. He’d held his tongue when she left the front door standing wide open—not once but four times—and when she forgot to turn off a four-hundred-degree oven. The ancient refrigerator they shared might not have the appeal of a new-fangled stainless steel model, but it kept the food cold and the ice cubes frozen. How long would it take Sam to figure out that an appliance that old naturally came with a few quirks—such as the need for a good kick to the front vent to quiet its rumbling and a hearty slam to secure the door’s latch?
Yeah, he’d overlooked all those things and more, but it had been the butter knife, left standing in the peanut butter, that broke the proverbial camel’s back—and the fact that though he’d hunted for half an hour, he still hadn’t found the jar’s lid. If he didn’t have it out with her soon, he might just come home from the workshop one day to find a moose in the entryway…or the North Pole Fire Department rushing up the stairs.
She’d been nothing but rational and levelheaded in the shop, even when dealing with difficult customers, so Bryce expected she’d behave just as reasonably when he asked her to try and be a little more careful in their shared kitchen.
He brewed a pot of coffee and, after placing two mugs on the counter, dropped four slices of bread into the toaster. Maybe if he buttered her up first with some crispy cinnamon toast—one of his breakfast favorites—it would make his words easier to deliver and bear.
When she padded into the room on tiny bare feet, the sight of her nearly shook his resolve. Looking pretty in a blue sweater just a few shades lighter than her eyes, she’d secured her thick dark curls with one of those claw-like things that looked more to Bryce like a torture device than a hair accessory. If she could take pain like that, he thought, grinning to himself, what he had to say shouldn’t faze her in the least. “Hey, Sam,” he began, “can I ask you a question?”
She tilted her head and smiled. “Sure!”
Hopefully, his gentle admonition wouldn’t darken her sunny mood. “I was just wondering if maybe you were born on the side of a hill or something.”
“I haven’t had any coffee yet,” she said, laughing, “so I apologize if I seem obtuse…”
He pointed at the open cupboard doors. “You think they’ll drift closed all by themselves, thanks to gravity?”
Sam pressed them shut. “Oops,” she said, shrugging. “I would’ve sworn I’d—”
“Like you’d have sworn you put the top back on the peanut butter jar? And locked the front door? And turned off the oven that was set to four hundred degrees? And I guess you think that since we’re in Alaska, everybody’s kitchen stays cool enough to keep milk from spoiling on the counter….”
One perfectly arched brow rose as she narrowed her eyes. “Silly me, thinking you’d been spending all your time away from the shop creating one-of-a-kind furniture.”
It was his turn to look confused.
“Seems you’ve clocked quite a few hours making lists of my…transgressions.”
“I wouldn’t call them transgressions. Exactly.” He needed to try a new tack, because it was clear he’d upset her. “Look, I don’t mean to sound petty, but—”
She stopped him cold with an icy stare that made him clear his throat. “It’s just…I…well, leaving the oven on…something like that could start a fire. And I know this is a low-crime town, but you can’t just walk off and leave the wide door open like that. Anybody—or anything—could wander in and—”
“Duly noted,” she huffed. “But last I checked,” she continued, pouring herself a cup of coffee, “while all of those things were careless, none are against the law.” Wriggling her shoulders, Sam added, “But then, I’ve never been a soldier, so what do I know about rules and laws and such?” Lifting her chin, she sniffed. “I’ll replace the milk today, soon as I close up the shop. So can you ratchet it down a notch or two, sir?”
“Now, now,” Bryce said, “no need for sarcasm. I’ve been a marine too long not to notice when things are…when they’re out of place.” Why did he suddenly feel like the transgressor here? Sam had been the one who’d put them at risk of…who knows what! “And unsafe,” he tacked on for good measure.
She had more to say and would have said it …if the music of her cell phone hadn’t interrupted them. Mug in hand, Sam walked out of the room and made a point of closing the door between her apartment and the kitchen. Last thing he saw before she disappeared behind it was the quirk of her left eyebrow. He’d never been a betting man, but if he had been, Bryce would have bet she had a fiery temper to go along with that dynamic personality of hers.
Frowning, he ran a palm across his flattop, wondering how he might have handled that better. He hadn’t shouted, and he’d chosen his words carefully. At least, he thought he had. But by her reaction, it was pretty clear Sam saw him as Captain Hook, sans the hook. She’d grown up in a house full of rowdy boys, after all, and more than likely, they never missed an opportunity to rub her face in every little mistake.
And maybe he’d been a marine so long that he’d lost all sense of how to talk to anyone not dressed head to toe in camo. Last thing he’d wanted to do was hurt her feelings. Bryce didn’t like thinking his mini-lecture might have alienated her.
Then he caught sight of the coffee she’d spilled while filling her mug moments ago, and every other infraction reappeared on his mental list. What did she expect him to do, follow her around twenty-four-seven, making sure she didn’t do something to put them—and Rudolph’s—in danger?
His experience with women was slim to none. Not counting his mom and Aunt Olive, the few female encounters he’d survived had been with soldiers. And because every one of those could dish it out as well as she could take it, he’d never felt like he had to walk on eggshells. Sam might not have a military background, but she was a grown-up, for the love of Pete. If she coul
d handle the trip from Maryland to Alaska and the disappointment of being passed over for a wet-behind-the-ears nephew, why couldn’t she take a little constructive criticism? Especially if the criticism might prevent a fire—or worse!
He’d been right to bring her to task. So why did he feel like such a heel? Might be best—for both of them, he decided—if he steered clear of her for the next couple of days. And in the interim, he’d try to come up with some sort of peace offering that wouldn’t make him appear too namby-pamby. Because wouldn’t it be a rotten shame if he’d alienated the first woman to turn his head since the breakup with Debbie?
Chapter Six
In fewer than five minutes, Sam had been scolded by her boss and invited to breakfast by the man who’d almost become her boss. She doubted any other woman in Alaska could say that.
Okay, so Bryce’s list of grievances hadn’t been pleasant, but she could hardly blame him for bringing them to her attention. Leaving the oven on and the front door open had been stupid. Careless. And dangerous! Forgetting to put the milk away or replace the cap on the peanut butter, well, that had been downright wasteful. For the life of her, Sam couldn’t remember what she’d been doing to preoccupy her mind so badly that she’d—
Inhaling a sharp gasp, Sam slapped her forehead. “What if he thinks you’re this addle-brained in the shop?” she asked the decades-old fridge. Olive had made no secret of the fact that all Bryce’s parents had left him was Rudolph’s—and a sizeable mortgage to go with it that forced him to drop most of the shop’s insurance coverage. So naturally it would make him nervous, wondering what her next airhead mistake might cost him. She wouldn’t blame him one bit if he decided to follow her around like a puppy, watching her every move to protect his major asset.
You’ll just have to be a lot more careful from now on, she decided, locking the door behind her, and prove to him that he didn’t make a major mistake by hiring you. Not an easy feat, considering it was her tendency to behave even more like a klutz when she knew somebody was watching her.
Hopefully, meeting with Dan Brooks would take her mind off things and calm her enough to keep her from providing Bryce with still more evidence that she couldn’t be trusted to run Rudolph’s. As an added perk, maybe getting together with the guy would pave a path to a new job in the event her present boss decided she wasn’t worth the risk.
A glance at the clock told her she had nearly an hour to tidy up a few things in the shop before heading off for her appointment with Mr. Brooks. Strange, she thought, that he’d refused to say why he wanted to see her….
Olive’s voice interrupted her thoughts. “You look too serious to work in Christmas City. Why the long face?”
Sam blew a stream of air through her lips. “Had a little run-in with your nephew this morning.”
“Oh?” Olive’s brows drew together.
Sam recited Bryce’s list of grievances. “So now he’s no doubt wondering if I’m hare-brained enough to burn the place down someday.”
“Oh, don’t let it ruin your day. Bryce has never been one to hold a grudge.”
“But he’s thinking of selling this place. What’s to keep him from doing that sooner, just to save himself the anguish of whatever catastrophe this featherhead he hired might cause?” She growled under her breath. “I hate that the whole scene put me in this silly, self-pitying mood. But I need this job, Olive. My family is just waiting for me to goof up so they can join in a harmonious ‘we told you so!’ song.”
Olive gave her a motherly hug. “Where’s your faith, girl?” She held Sam at arm’s length. “God sent you here for a reason, and He didn’t do it just to watch you fail. Besides,” she added, winking, “I’m convinced that one of the reasons you’re here is Bryce.”
Sam couldn’t help snickering at the notion. “Please,” she said, waving the idea away. “He barely tolerates me. The man is way too marine to go for the likes of me.”
Bryce’s aunt went back to stacking one-dollar bills in the cash drawer. “What makes you say that?”
“Oh, you know…he’s Mr. By-the-Book. A real straight arrow. And me?” A giggle escaped her as she drew quotation marks in the air. “I’ve never even seen ‘The Book.’ ” Sam sighed.
“Let me get this straight…are you implying you–you’re interested in Bryce?”
The question caught Sam by surprise. She hadn’t given any thought to how she felt about him. At least, not consciously. Oh, who are you kidding? she asked herself.
Olive stood quietly, waiting for an answer. But Sam couldn’t very well admit that the thought of seeing Bryce in the shop was the reason she’d started wearing mascara again, the reason she started every day with a smile, now could she? Or that images of him, flitting through her head all night, were responsible for each of a hundred romantic dreams? “What eligible woman wouldn’t be interested?” she said, hoping to throw Olive off course, at least a little. “I mean, what’s not to like? He’s tall and handsome, intelligent, and…and he can be downright funny, when he puts his mind to it…which, admittedly, isn’t nearly often enough, because he’s positively gorgeous when he smiles.” Sam was rambling and knew it, but she seemed powerless to stop now that she’d started. “Believe it or not,” she continued, “I admire his ‘do the right thing’ attitude. But that’s the very reason he’ll never be interested in me.”
The woman shook her head. “Give an old lady her due, will ya? I’ve known that boy since before he was born. Believe you me, girl, he’s interested, all right.”
Sam’s heartbeat doubled at the possibility. “Y’think?” She didn’t even try to hide her delight, which no doubt was already painted all over her hot-cheeked face.
“I don’t think,” Olive said. “I know.” She waved Sam closer then said in hushed tones, “I’ve seen him in love before—or when he thought he was in love, anyway. The way he looks at you?” Olive laughed. “Oh, honey child, if he looked at any of the so-called eligible females you just referred to the way he looks at you? He’d have to beat them off with a giant candy cane!”
The clocks in the shop chose that moment to announce the nine o’clock hour. “Oh my goodness, I have to run or I’ll be late. Will you be okay here by yourself for an hour or so?”
“’Course I will. I’ve spent the past half-dozen years here all by myself.” Olive narrowed one eye. “But…where are you off to in such a hurry?”
“Got a call from Dan Brooks this morning,” Sam explained, grabbing her purse. “Didn’t say why he wanted to see me, just that I should meet him at Dalman’s Restaurant at nine fifteen.”
“You watch your p’s and q’s with that one, Sammie-girl. He never does anything nice without a self-serving motive.”
Olive had said something similar not long ago, and the repeated warning set Sam’s teeth on edge. “Oh, he probably just wants to apologize for reneging on our employment agreement.”
“After all these weeks?” Olive harrumphed. “No way. He’s got something up his crooked sleeve.”
She made a good point. “Don’t worry, I’ll be careful. Besides, it’s only breakfast.” Sam opened the door a crack. “Need anything while I’m out?”
“Just your promise that you won’t fall for any of his tricks.” The hard glint in Olive’s eyes made it clear just how serious she was.
“I’m not as naive as I look, you know,” Sam said, smiling. “I’ll be fine, just fine.”
“From your lips to God’s ears.”
Heart hammering, Sam stepped outside, and as the bells above the door jingled, she prayed, Lord, don’t let me do or say anything stupid with this guy, okay?
She repeated the prayer all the way from Rudolph’s to Dalman’s, echoing please, please, please with every step. Sam had been so focused on the toes of her shoes that a deep voice made her leap six inches into the air.
“I sure hope you’re Sam Sinclair,” it said.
One hand to her chest, she took a deep breath. “Yes, I am.” Extending a hand, she added, “An
d you must be Mr. Brooks.”
“Dan, please,” he corrected. “Mr. Brooks is my father.”
Built like a linebacker, Dan cast a huge shadow. Sunlight shimmered from his shining blond locks as he took her hand in his. “I’m so glad that slave driver you work for let you take time to meet me.”
“Olive? Oh, she’s a sweetheart. Very easy to work with,” Sam said, smiling.
Slanting green eyes narrowed. “I think you know that I was referring to Bryce Stone.” Then, “He hasn’t sold that miserable excuse for a gift shop, has he?”
Sam tugged to free her hand. Though she already had a bad feeling about this guy, she decided to be fair. It was way too soon to make a judgment call about his character. “It’s a wonderful store,” she said, lifting her chin. “We’re doing a very robust business.”
A wide smile threatened to split his face in two. “Once you get to know me, Sam, you’ll realize I have a very wacky sense of humor.” He held up a hand, traffic cop style. “I meant no offense, honest.” He held open the door then bowed low, and with a grand sweep of his arm, invited Sam into the restaurant. “After you, m’lady.”
Once inside, Dan took charge as if he owned the place. “We’ll take that table by the windows,” he told the hostess. “And we’d like to order right away.” Without waiting to hear if that was acceptable or not, he placed his hand on the small of Sam’s back and gently guided her forward.
When the waitress showed him the menu, Dan waved it away. “We’ll each have two eggs over easy, with a side of hash browns and biscuits with country gravy. Wheat toast, too, lightly buttered, a small tomato juice, and coffee.” He stretched his neck to peer at her tablet. “Got all that?”
The girl tucked her pencil behind her ear and said, “Yes, sir, Mr. Brooks,” before hurrying away. Sam stared in amazement, trying to remember the last time anyone had ordered a meal for her. Joey had tried it on one of their first dates, and she would have liked nothing better than to tell Dan what she’d told Joey that day: “I have a mind—and tastes—of my own, thank you.” Sam didn’t know whether it was a good thing or a bad omen that he’d asked the waitress to bring all of her breakfast favorites.
