Love Finds You in North Pole, Alaska

by Loree Lough

  “So tell me,” he said, leaning forward, “how do you like North Pole so far?”

  Finally, she thought, something pleasant to talk about! “I love it! Almost from the start, it felt like home.”

  “Almost?”

  Sam leaned back and crossed both arms over her chest. “Well, I had a very bad experience on my first day here…when I showed up, employment contract in hand, only to discover the job I’d been promised had been given to someone else.”

  Dan lifted both shoulders in a silent shrug. She sat quietly, fully expecting him to explain that his poor nephew needed the job for any one of a dozen excellent reasons. But no such explanation came. Instead, he slid his cell phone from his shirt pocket and squinted as he punched numbers on its minuscule keyboard. Holding one finger aloft, he winked. “This’ll only take a minute, hon,” he whispered.

  Hon? The word made her a little homesick for Baltimore. But how had Dan known that the term was as commonplace in Charm City as “Christmas” was in North Pole?

  “Sorry about that,” he said, grinning as he snapped the phone shut. “Didn’t want anything to interrupt our meal, so I’ve left instructions with my secretary that we not be disturbed.”

  They’d been here ten minutes already, and so far all they’d shared was small talk. “So, Dan, why are we here?”

  “Whoa,” he said, laughing, “you don’t believe in beating around the bush, do you?”

  “As my father is so fond of saying, ‘It’s a waste of time and unnecessarily hard on the shrubbery.’ ” It was all Sam could do to keep from holding her breath as she hoped her father’s other favorite saying, “Curiosity kills the cat,” wasn’t true.

  “The truth?”

  “That’d be nice….”

  “Edmunds said you were a looker. I wanted to see for myself.”

  Sam could hardly believe her ears. “For real?”

  Another shrug.

  “You could have done that without the price of breakfast,” she pointed out, “if you’d just walked past Rudolph’s and peeked into the window.”

  He leaned forward and clasped his hands on the table. “I never do anything from a distance that I can do up close and personal.” His smile warmed the space between them. “And I’d pay a hundred times the cost of this meal to get up close and personal to you. You’re not just a looker. You’re positively stunning.”

  Sam wished the waitress would arrive with coffee or juice or water. Anything to occupy her hands so she’d have something to focus on besides Dan’s bright green eyes.

  “I hear you’re from the Baltimore suburbs?”

  Nodding, she said, “Ellicott City, to be exact.”

  “Never been, but if all the girls there are as pretty as you, maybe I should book a trip to Maryland.”

  Oh, he was a charmer, all right. But Sam refused to allow his flattery to distract her. “Surely there was a better reason for a busy and important man like yourself to arrange this meeting than merely looking at me.”

  “Samantha,” he said, slowly pronouncing every syllable, “there’s nothing mere about you.”

  Years ago, one of her college roommates had dated her brother Bill and said afterward, “Oh, he’s smooth, that brother of yours. Smooth.” At the time, Sam hadn’t understood what Anna meant and, unwilling to admit her naiveté, had kept the question to herself. She understood now, though, and couldn’t help feeling a bit surprised that her silly, roughhousing brother had developed a talent for putting Dan’s type of move on unsuspecting girls. No wonder he’d never had a steady girlfriend, she thought, smiling to herself.

  Dan must have misread her amusement and thought she’d fallen like a tree in the woods for his line, because he reached for her hand. “Have you ever been to Paris?”

  She retrieved her hand. “As a matter of fact, I have.” Though she’d only known him a few minutes, Sam could see that her answer had surprised him, as evidenced by his slightly parted lips, big staring eyes…and uncharacteristic silence. “I spent a year there during college, earning my BA in culinary arts.” Would he remember, she wondered, that she’d included that bit of information on her résumé? Had he even bothered to read her résumé?

  “I’d love to see you in the City of Light,” Dan said. “We could be there in six hours, you know, on my private jet.”

  “Whoa,” she said, borrowing his earlier quote, “you don’t believe in beating around the bush, either, do you?”

  The waitress showed up before he could respond and began doling out their breakfasts. “Cream for your coffee?” she asked.

  “None for me,” Dan said as Sam replied, “Yes, please.”

  He flapped a napkin across his lap. “Seems we’ve finally found something we don’t have in common.”

  “Oh,” said a deep resonant voice, “I’m sure in time you’ll find there are hundreds, even thousands of things you two don’t have in common.”

  “Well, as I live and breathe,” Dan said. “If it isn’t Bryce Stone, in the flesh.” He got to his feet and held out his hand.

  Sam noticed that Bryce hesitated before taking it and then remembered something Olive had said about these two being rivals since high school. At the time, she hadn’t felt it was her place to ask why, but now Sam wished that she had. “Won’t you join us?” she said, scooting over to make room for Bryce. “There’s more here than I could possibly eat all by myself. I hate wasting food, so you’d be doing me a favor, helping me—”

  “Don’t mind if I do.” He slid her coffee cup over as he sat down. Bryce was smiling, but the edgy expression on his face didn’t escape Sam’s notice.

  “I had no idea you guys were an item,” Bryce said, signaling the waitress.

  Sam gasped. “We’re not an item!” she corrected. “I only just met him ten minutes ago. He’s the one who called this morning when we were in the kitchen, remember? You left before I could tell you who it was.”

  One brow rose on Dan’s forehead. “In the kitchen this morning, eh?” Chuckling, he added, “Maybe it’s you two who are the item.”

  I wish, Sam thought as Bryce said, “She manages Rudolph’s for me.” He met her gaze. “And she’s doing a great job.” Facing Dan, he said, “Big mistake, my friend, choosing your nephew over this one. She’s a real go-getter.”

  “Actually, Dan arranged this little meeting to apologize for that very snafu,” Sam said. “Isn’t that right, Dan?”

  Frowning, he buttered his toast. “I’m hoping to make it up to her by flying her to France for dinner at Le Ciel de Paris.”

  Bryce turned toward Sam. “Is that the one way up on some building, where you can see the Eiffel Tower and stuff…?”

  Nodding, she said, “I’ve never eaten there, but I hear the view is spectacular. They say you can see for miles.”

  “So you’re going then?” Bryce asked.

  Sam giggled. “Of course not!”

  “Your breakfast is getting cold,” he said, using her fork to spear a bite of hash browns and holding it near her lips.

  Like an obedient child, Sam opened her mouth and ate it, though she didn’t know what in the world had inspired Bryce to do such a thing. Was he interested in her, as Olive had suggested? Or did he just want Dan to think that he was, as part of their age-old rivalry?

  Dan took a call on his cell phone and, forefinger in the air, mouthed, “I’ll just be a minute,” before walking toward the lobby.

  “I wouldn’t put it past him to duck outta here,” Bryce said, grinning, “and stick us with the tab.”

  Sam didn’t intend to let him off the hook that easily. “I don’t appreciate being a pawn in your ‘Get Even with Dan Brooks’ game,” she whispered.

  Bryce turned slightly on the bench seat. “What?”

  But Dan returned before she could explain. A very good thing, Sam decided, judging by the irritation on Bryce’s face.

  Dan didn’t sit down but remained standing beside the table. “Sorry to eat and run,” he said, “but something�
�s come up, and I need to go.” He laid a hand on Bryce’s shoulder. “It’s good knowing you survived Afghanistan.”

  Bryce poked two beefy fingers through the handle of his mug and said a gruff, “Thanks.”

  “I’ve already taken care of the check, so take your time. Enjoy.”

  Sam sat up straighter. “But what about…whatever it was you wanted to tell me?”

  Dan fished a business card from his shirt pocket. “Another time, Samantha. And really…I’m sorry for any trouble that little mix-up over the chef position caused you.” One knee on the bench facing hers, he reached across the table and took her hand. After pressing the business card into her palm, he added, “I promise to make it up to you.” And closing her fingers over the card, he kissed her knuckles. “I’m dead serious about that flight to Paris, so if you get a hankering for escargot, you know how to reach me.”

  And with that, he was gone.

  Sam stared at the slick photo of his hotel and the line beneath it that read, Daniel Garrett Brooks, President and CEO. Despite the fancy title, she had no desire to go to Paris—or anywhere else, for that matter—with the man!

  “Looks to me like you’ve turned Danny boy’s head,” Bryce said, smiling around a bite of egg.

  Sam slapped Dan’s card onto the table, wondering why in the world it would make any difference to Bryce, one way or the other. “Excuse me,” she said, “but I need to get back to work.”

  He slid from the booth and stood at the end of the table as she got to her feet. Slinging her purse over one shoulder, she faced the lobby. “See you at the shop, boss.”

  Sam could almost feel his eyes, drilling tiny holes into her back as she half-ran toward the door. A mental image of herself tripping over the restaurant’s long red welcome mat slowed her pace. The last thing she wanted was to give Bryce yet another bit of evidence for his “Why Sam’s too Ditzy to Manage the Shop” list.

  Chapter Seven

  When Bryce entered the shop shortly after closing time, the breath caught in his throat, because there stood Sam at the top of a twelve-foot stepladder, reaching for something at the back of a high shelf.

  “Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” he thundered as the door slammed shut behind him. “Get down from there before you—”

  Eyes wide with fright, her arms windmilled as she struggled to retain her balance. If he’d known that the sound of his voice would startle her that badly, he never would have burst into the store, roaring like an irate lion. If she fell from that height, she’d break her pretty neck. Not to mention the thousands of dollars’ worth of crystal and porcelain Christmas garden houses she’d take with her.

  Bryce made it from the door to the base of the wobbling ladder in three quick strides, steadying it with one hand as the other wrapped around her slender ankle. Rudolph’s clocks chose that instant to announce the six o’clock hour, and he hoped the rhythmic harmony would drown out the sound of his hard-hammering heart.

  “I’ll get down,” she said through clenched teeth, “just as soon as you let go of my ankle.”

  Until she mentioned it, Bryce hadn’t even realized he’d grabbed it. He swallowed, hard, and released her. “You scared me half to death,” he admitted as she made her way down the rickety rungs, “swinging around up there like a monkey in a zoo.”

  Once both feet were on steady ground, she glared up at him. “I was fine until you blasted in here like a bull in a china shop.”

  “Could’ve fooled me.”

  Hands on her hips, Sam’s eyes flashed. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you had only the best of intentions. But do me a favor, will you? Next time you’re tempted to play the hero, make sure the person you’re rescuing needs rescuing!”

  Playing hero? Out on a limb? Bryce turned his back to her. He didn’t know whether he felt embarrassed or annoyed by her attitude…or both. “Of all the ungrateful—”

  She darted around and faced him head-on. “Excuse me?” It was almost comical, the way she stood glaring up at him.

  Almost.

  If he hadn’t come into the store when he had, no telling what might have happened to her. Bryce had no intention of apologizing for saving her from certain doom. But he had no desire to stand here bickering with her about it, either. “Have you balanced the checkbook for this month?”

  Sam blinked, looking a bit baffled by his sudden change of subject. “What?” She stiffened her spine and lifted her chin in defiance. “Of course I have,” she snapped, “and you’re more than welcome to double-check my math.”

  He’d heard it said that some women wore their anger well, but he’d never seen proof of it before now. Much as he hated to admit it, she did look gorgeous all riled up.

  Bryce clapped a hand to the back of his neck and shook his head. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to wrap her in a fierce hug, kiss the daylights out of her, and tell her how glad he was that she was safe and sound. And if she didn’t quit looking at him that way, he might just do it. Instead, he cleared his throat and barked, “So where is it?”

  “You mean the checkbook?”

  He didn’t trust himself to speak.

  “It’s in the drawer under the cash register. Right where your aunt Olive has kept it for years.”

  Which he’d know, her remark implied, if he’d helped out a little more around here. Somehow he found the gumption to walk away from her. Within minutes, he’d found the checkbook and made a point of focusing on its pages as she puttered in the shop.

  It wasn’t easy, concentrating on debits and credits, with her passing back and forth, dusting this, polishing that, and standing back to squint at her artfully balanced arrangements, but somehow Bryce managed to make a sizeable mess around the cash register. It didn’t escape his notice how quickly Sam’s bad mood evaporated. Debbie’s snits could last hours—if not days. Not Sam! Within minutes, she was back to her usual smiling, happy self, humming along to the Christmas tunes blaring from the store’s speakers as she went about her work.

  He hadn’t needed an hour to double-check her math, but because he couldn’t come up with another excuse to hang around and watch her work, he’d gone over every entry a half dozen times. As much as he hated to, Bryce eventually pushed back from the counter. After their set-to earlier, she’d probably decided he was a boor and a brute, and if he sat much longer, pretending to be engrossed by addition and subtraction, she’d see him as math-challenged, too.

  “Things looks good,” he said, standing.

  She’d been putting price stickers on mice in Santa hats and looked up to say, “Sorry.”

  Sorry? Bryce didn’t get it, and said so.

  “Well, the way you were poring over those figures, I naturally presumed you were trying to find a mistake.” And grinning, she shrugged. “So…sorry to disappoint you.”

  “I’m not disappointed.” He could tell by the tilt of her head and raised eyebrows that she wanted more. “Good work?” Aw, man, he said to himself, why’d it come out like a question?

  “Uh, thanks,” she said and went back to work.

  Bryce realized she’d been at it alone for twelve straight hours, maybe more. “So, where’s Olive today?” he asked.

  Sam stepped up beside him to tuck the price stickers into the drawer where the checkbook was kept. “She had some errands to run, so I gave her the day off.”

  “You gave her the day off? But you’re—”

  Facing him, she narrowed her eyes. “Got a problem with my management style, Mr. Stone?”

  He watched her gaze flick from his good eye to the bad one and back again, as if oblivious to the fact that the left one was blind. The thing made most people so uncomfortable, they looked anywhere except at the patch. “As somebody who used to order tough guys around twenty-four-seven, I can honestly say you’re doing just fine.” He didn’t add that Sam had just herself and Olive to “manage.”

  In place of the “thank you” he expected, Sam groaned and then pointed at the shelf above th
e cash register. “Oh, for cryin’ out loud, would you look at that?”

  He followed her gaze but saw nothing that should inspire her obvious frustration. Even before he managed to ask, she’d dragged the stepladder behind the counter and started climbing. When it started wobbling again, she grabbed the shelf for balance

  “I declare, Sam, you’ll be the death of me yet.” Hands on the rails, he steadied the ladder as she tidied the colorful cookie tins. “There!” she said, making her way back to the floor. On solid ground again, she propped both hands on her hips. “So what’s on your schedule tomorrow?”

  He felt like a giant, standing there looking down into her pretty face. “I, uh, well, um…” A giant idiot, Bryce thought, and after clearing his throat, he tried again. “Why do you ask?”

  “I thought maybe if you had a few minutes, you could pop over to the hardware store and buy a new ladder. But if you don’t have time, I can probably—”

  “Are you kidding? That’s the—” He almost said “smartest thing” but thought better of it. “That’s the best idea you’ve had yet. I’ll make time.”

  Sam inhaled a little gasp and clasped both hands under her chin. “A fifteen-footer—aluminum, if they have one, because it’ll be easier to tote around—with one of those shelf thingies on top where I can put stuff.”

  Bryce figured this must have been how she looked on Christmas morning, when she found doll-babies and ruffly dresses and other things under the Sinclair family tree. For a reason Bryce couldn’t explain, he suddenly wanted to promise her a puppy, or a boat, or dinner in Paris if it would guarantee a repeat of that happy, eager expression. “I’ll, ah…I’ll see what’s available,” he said instead.

  “Thanks,” she said, giving his chest a playful jab, “you’re the best!”

  He was about to ask, “The best what?” when she hid an enormous yawn behind her small hand.