Christmas in Destiny

by Toni Blake

  “Morning,” she said, glancing in his direction for only a second before pulling back a white sheer curtain to look out the window. She was clearly uncomfortable making eye contact with him and preferred staring out into the snow.

  “Morning,” he replied. “Any chance a plow came through yet?”

  Eyes still focused outside, she bit her lower lip pensively. “No, but maybe soon. In the couple of winters I’ve lived here, they usually get to us pretty fast. Probably because the police chief used to live up the road and his daughter still does.”

  “The sooner the better.”

  “Agreed,” she replied. But then surprised him with, “Would you like some breakfast?”

  Given that he hadn’t eaten since lunch yesterday, it was a welcome offer. “Um, yeah—that’d be good, thanks.”

  It wasn’t so much that Candice wanted to make her stranger breakfast as that she wasn’t sure what else to do with him. She wasn’t used to having an unwanted overnight guest, and this morning felt as awkward as she’d expected.

  “Pancakes?” she asked, noticing that Frosty was curled up on the couch with him. Like they were buddies or something. That cat clearly had no loyalty.

  “Pancakes are great,” he said. Even if his tone stayed all-business. There was an undeniable hardness about him that kept her on edge, even in moments when it seemed like that should fade. Even when he added, “Um, anything I can do to help?”

  She headed for the kitchen without looking back as she said, “Thanks, but no—I’ve got it.” She supposed it was nice of him to offer, but she already felt his presence too much, so she at least preferred having a wall between them for the moment.

  Not that it kept her from remembering things she’d noticed about him as she’d passed through the room. He’d lain on the couch looking rumpled and sort of sexy. His hair was messy, his flannel shirt gone to reveal tattoos on both arms, peeking from beneath the sleeves of his T-shirt. And his feet had been bare, too—his socks draped over the fireplace screen to dry.

  As she mixed the batter, the griddle heating on the stove, she couldn’t help thinking he’d looked far too comfortable in her home—especially with her silly cat practically in a cuddly bromance with him already. She’d be glad when he was gone and things got back to normal around here.

  Pouring the first pancakes in neat, precise circles that allowed her to fit four on the griddle, she prayed for the snowplow. Then set her table for two, something she didn’t think she’d done since . . . well, since she’d lived here.

  She hoped that by the time he came into the kitchen, he’d have his shirt back on over his tee—and his socks on, too, for that matter. She wasn’t sure why. But maybe it had to do with the hotness factor. She didn’t want to keep noticing that about him. She wanted the hot stranger to keep being more strange than hot.

  Then she tried to distract herself with thoughts of her day to come once he was gone. Roads plowed or not, a winter storm made it seem like a day to do what she usually did—stay in.

  She might wrap presents. She was an early shopper and had most of them already. She’d picked up the candy canes on her coffee table at the General Mercantile in town just yesterday, in fact, intending to use them as package decorations. After that, she’d do some work on the vacuum cleaner manual, and later she should probably shovel her walk and driveway. And maybe, just maybe, she’d spend some time playing with her dumb cat—if she decided he deserved any affection at all after certain particularly egregious transgressions over the past twelve hours.

  That was it, another exciting day in the life of Candice Sheridan.

  But then again, maybe she’d had more than enough excitement already. Hadn’t she told herself she wanted things back to normal?

  Placing a tall plate of pancakes in the center of the kitchen table a few minutes later, she hesitantly called to her houseguest that breakfast was ready.

  “Looks good,” he said, low, walking into the room. Hair still rumpled. Plaid shirt still off, tattoos visible. On one arm she made out a tribal-looking band that circled his biceps and on the other a sort of star that resembled the points on a compass. He’d at least put his socks on, but unfortunately, she thought something about a man’s feet in thick, wintry socks looked invitingly cozy.

  As they both dug in, she wished she’d turned on some Christmas music or something, since the silence was killer. Normally, she enjoyed the quiet, but right now it was deafening. So like last night, she felt compelled to make conversation. Even though she didn’t have any new topics. “What did you say brought you to Destiny again?”

  He swiped a napkin across his mouth and shot a quick glance her way before returning his attention to his food. “I didn’t.”

  “Well, you said a wrong turn,” she reminded him. “Where were you trying to go?”

  Now he met her gaze a little longer. “Not sure, actually. Truth is . . . my dad died recently, and he said if I was in this area, I should drive through. Not sure why, but . . . just honoring that wish, I guess.”

  “Sorry about your father,” she told him. Her own had been out of her life since she was young, so she didn’t have a lot of nice feelings about fathers in general, but she knew some of them could be good ones. It was difficult to imagine this guy’s father, though. “Where were you coming from?”

  “Montana,” he said. And left it at that. A man of few words.

  “You lived there? Or . . . ?”

  “Since I was nine. Lived up north of Mansfield before that, but don’t remember much about it.”

  She felt herself squinting, trying to understand this. “So you thought a good time to check out this area was in the middle of a blizzard?”

  He shot her a look. Then resumed cutting off a big bite from his stack of pancakes. “I got here before the blizzard. Mostly. But then it was too late to do much about it, especially when I lost the signal on my phone. Lotta country roads around here and not many seem to lead anywhere.”

  She laughed, because she could see why an outsider would think that. Destiny was pretty far from anything like an interstate, pretty far from anything like a city. Then she informed him, “Destiny is usually more hospitable.”

  “Bad timing, I guess.”

  She offered a nod in reply—just as a rumble in the distance told her that, hallelujah, a snowplow was coming!

  They both looked up and he said, “Is that what I think it is?”

  “Yes!” she answered, then pretty much dropped her fork and headed to the phone in a cubby just off the kitchen.

  Which made her stranger arch one brow, casting a dryly amused expression as she passed. “You in that big a hurry to get rid of me?”

  She frankly wondered why that would be a surprise, but just kept walking as she said, “Figured you’d be in a rush to get on your way to Miami.” Then she dialed Meffler’s, who promised to send a truck within the hour.

  They finished eating, then both headed back to the living room, to the windows. The first swath cut by the approaching plow revealed just how deep the snow had gotten. “There must be nearly two feet,” Candice mused.

  “Damn,” her houseguest said. “That fell fast.”

  She nodded, feeling their collective awe.

  “I told the tow truck place to have the driver swing by here to get you first,” she explained, “so you don’t have to walk back up the road.”

  “Thanks,” he replied, looking a little surprised again, even at that small kindness, making her wonder if not many people had been kind to him—or if she’d really come off as that much of a shrew last night. She feared the latter. But thought she’d had perfectly good reason not to welcome a stranger into her house with open arms. Then he sat down on the couch and started putting his work boots back on, which had dried next to the fire alongside the socks.

  By the time a tow truck came, he’d put his shirt and coat back on as well and was heading toward the door. And she, oddly, found herself wishing he had a scarf and gloves—but then rememb
ered he was a big boy and could take care of himself. Except maybe in freakish blizzard conditions.

  Before leaving, he stopped, looked over his shoulder. “You, uh, be okay here?”

  She bit her lip and peered up at him from beneath lowered eyelids, taken aback by the concern. Her voice came out softer than intended when she assured him, “I’ll be fine.”

  He replied with a short, brisk nod, then said, “Thanks for letting me stay even though you didn’t want to, Candy Cane.” Their gazes met once more, and like last night when he’d called her Candy, it was the closest he’d come to a pleasant expression—but still not quite a smile.

  “It wasn’t personal,” she tried to explain. “Well, not exactly anyway.” Ugh. Awkward. Be quiet now.

  But he let her off the hook. “I know. I get it.”

  “Merry Christmas,” she told him, her voice coming out unintentionally soft.

  “You too. I’ll be celebrating mine in Miami.” And as he opened the door, he paused once more, pointing toward the candy canes on the coffee table. “Um—mind if I take one of those for the road?”

  “Of course not,” she said, bending to pick one up, then walked it over to where he stood. As she handed it to him, their fingers brushed, and she suffered an undeniable awareness. Of his hotness. And that he was leaving.

  “I like peppermint,” he explained. “And candy canes are my weakness.”

  Then he shocked the hell out of her by giving her a wink—just before he disappeared out the door, shutting it behind him.

  Three

  “You worry me . . .”

  George Bailey, It’s a Wonderful Life

  When a knock sounded on her door three hours later, Candice flinched and looked up with a start—and so did Frosty, who’d been curled up sleeping by the fire and appeared annoyed by the rude interruption. “Who on earth . . . ?” she murmured as she abandoned the roll of reindeer-covered wrapping paper in her hand and got to her feet. Weeks could pass without a visitor at her house, but apparently an early snowstorm brought people out en masse.

  Though at least it wasn’t the middle of the night. And she breathed a sigh of relief to see Mick Brody standing on the other side of the door—for real this time—instead of her stranger. Wait, not her stranger—the stranger. Who was blessedly gone now, off to Miami, never to darken her path again. The whole thing almost seemed like just a bad dream now.

  She opened the door with a smile. “Mick—hi.”

  Her rugged neighbor looked tired, cold. “Make it through the storm okay?”

  She kept her smile in place as she shrugged. “More or less.”

  His dark eyebrows rose in silent question.

  “Everything’s fine,” she assured him. “Cat got out in the midst of it, that’s all. And a guy got stuck in the snow and had to spend the night here—but he’s gone now and all’s well.”

  He balked. “A guy?”

  She gave another shrug. “Yeah, not from around here.”

  “Jenny thought she saw a tow truck out the window this morning—is that why?”

  Candice nodded. “Yep.”

  Mick narrowed his gaze on her. “You coulda called, you know.”

  “It was four in the morning,” she said sheepishly. “And unless you bought a snowmobile when I wasn’t looking, I’m not sure how you could have gotten here anyway.”

  He tilted his head. “Still coulda called. Just so somebody would know.”

  “In case he hacked me to pieces in the night?” she asked teasingly.

  He squinted a small grin her way and just said, “Next time, hon, call. And in the meantime, I brought the snowblower down to do your walk and driveway. Just did Miss Ellie’s and checked on her, too.”

  As Mick pointed toward their elderly neighbor’s place up the way, Candice felt all the more sheepish realizing that he was probably right—she should have let someone know what was happening. But she hated the idea of bothering someone that late. And at the same time, she appreciated that her neighbors looked out for her. She’d only really gotten to know Jenny and Mick since moving here to Blue Valley Road—and they were close friends with her cousin, Tessa, and Amy as well. While she was a few years younger than them all, she’d become a part of their circle the last couple of years and enjoyed the friendships she’d begun forming.

  “That’s awfully generous, Mick. But you look cold. I hate to ask you to do that while I’m all warm and cozy in here. I’d planned to shovel later.”

  He was a matter-of-fact guy. “It’s two feet of snow, Candice. And I have the blower. Tell you what. Bring me out an occasional cup of hot chocolate and we’ll call it even.” He ended on a wink, and she agreed it was a good deal. Though better for her than for him.

  As promised, in between wrapping presents, she kept an eye on his progress out the window and twice took him hot chocolate. And when the longer-than-average drive and walk were finally cleared of snow, she insisted he come in to warm up for a few minutes by the fire.

  He asked after her mother—who lived in in a small house not far from town square, and who she’d checked in with by phone this morning. And she asked after Jenny and their little boy, to which he’d replied, “This storm is actually a blessing in disguise for me. Jenny had this wild plan of getting us—by which I mean me, Dustin, and the cat—all in reindeer antlers for a Christmas card picture today. None of us were very happy about it—well, except maybe Dustin—so I’m good with handling a little snow removal instead and leaving the antlers to the kid and the cat.”

  She smiled and said, “Well, beware of pointy antlers when you get home.”

  “Aw, I’ve got quite a while before that happens,” he told her, explaining that he’d be heading into town after leaving here. “Did you hear about the damage?” Looking up from the fire, he raised his eyebrows.

  She let her gaze widen. “No. What damage?”

  “A few roofs caved in under the weight of the snow.”

  “You’re kidding!”

  “Nope, wish I was. The community building, the church, and that vacant building where the butcher used to be. The butcher’s building is a shame, but doesn’t matter nearly so much as the other two. I hear the damage is pretty bad.”

  Candice’s heart dropped. When you lived someplace your whole life, even the buildings and homes somehow felt like family. She’d been to countless weddings at the lovely old church on the edge of town, and once upon a time had dreamed of getting married there herself someday. And the community building and the church took turns hosting the annual town Christmas party every year. “Where will they hold the party?” she wondered aloud. It was a seasonal tradition complete with a visit from Santa Claus.

  Mick shook his head. “Hard to say. And there’s Walter and Anita’s wedding coming up, too.”

  Candice flinched, gasped—remembering. “Oh no—poor Anita.” Jenny’s father, the police chief, was set to marry his longtime love, Anita Garey, on Christmas Eve at the church. The whole town was invited. The couple, both in their early sixties, was an unlikely one—Anita owned the Dew Drop Inn outside town and wore more sparkles than Walter had probably ever seen before she arrived in Destiny some years back. But she’d become a beloved member of the community since then and everyone was excited about the wedding. “What will they do?”

  Mick shook his head. “Hard to say, but from what I hear, the plan is to try to get the church cleaned up and repaired by Christmas Eve. The reception was scheduled for the community building, too, so that’s one more thing to worry about.” Mick looked back into the fire. “A lot to be done, a lot to figure out. That’s why I’m heading up there to meet with Logan and Mike and some other guys—start making a plan.”

  “If there’s anything I can do, will you let me know?”

  He gave a nod as he pulled his gloves back on, ready to depart. “Think cleanup efforts will start tomorrow and I’m sure anybody who shows up’ll be put to work.”

  Shane stood huddled next to a small space heater i
n an old cinder block garage on the edge of town, talking to a guy in dirty coveralls named Mo. Mo seemed to be about his age, but lacked a considerable number of teeth and could have easily passed for one of The Three Stooges. If the stooges had ever moved to Mayberry. And if Mayberry had been at the North Pole.

  “Did ya a good chunk o’ damage there, son,” Mo said.

  Yeah, Shane had thought so too when he’d seen the shape of his truck this morning. Turned out there’d been a tree stump under that snow drift he’d hit.

  “Took out your radiator and a good bit o’ your grille, son, and your right front fender’s toast.”

  “How long will it take to fix?” Shane asked.

  “Aw, I’d say quite a while, son,” Mo told him. “Made some calls and can place some orders, but supply routes look to be slow after this heap o’ Mother Nature.”

  Shane was tempted to tell Mo he wasn’t his son. But instead he let out a sigh and said, “How long’s a while?”

  “Hard to say, hard to say.” Mo shook his head. “We’ll do the best we can for ya, son, but I’d say you’re lookin’ at a couple weeks at least. We can do the mechanical repair here, but then we’ll have to send it over to A1 Body in Crestview for the body work.”

  “I’m guessing you don’t have a body shop in Destiny,” Shane said low, dry.

  “Nope, sure don’t. But A1 does quality work. Should I order up them parts for ya?”

  “Do I have a choice?” he murmured.

  Mo laughed, like something was funny here, making Shane’s jaw clench slightly. “Not really, I don’t reckon. Not unless you want to rent a truck and trailer over in Crestview and haul it someplace. Or rent a car and leave your truck with us, then come get it when it’s ready.”

  Tempting ideas—though unfortunately Shane couldn’t afford either. The little house where he’d nursed his father through lung cancer was on the market in Montana but hadn’t sold yet, and his credit card was maxed out on funeral and cremation expenses. Insurance would cover the truck repairs, but beyond that, he only had the money in his wallet, which had been about enough to get him to Miami, factoring in a few nights in a motel until he could start working for Donnie V. and get himself settled. So being stuck in Destiny, Ohio was about the last damn thing he needed.