by Toni Blake
“And a nice smile?” Amy suggested.
“Doesn’t smile much,” Rachel broke in to say. Candice supposed that, as someone who was organizing much of the repair work, it made sense that she’d met him, too. “Kind of an all-business sort of guy. But Jenny’s right—he’s sexy as hell, and though I’ll deny saying this if any of you ever breathe a word, if I weren’t a very happily married woman, I’d be all over that.”
Candice was swallowing the last bite of a tiny ham and cheese sandwich, then reaching for her own eggnog, when she realized every eye in the room had turned to her again. “What?” she asked.
“You’re the only one here who’s single,” Sue Ann said.
“Except me,” Edna pointed out. “But I’m guessin’ I’m a mite too senior citizen for him.”
“And?” Candice asked, brows raising.
“You should go for him,” Jenny suggested, her eyes persuasively wide.
Which made Candice’s jaw drop. “Me? Oh-ho-ho no.”
“Why not?” Amy asked.
“Well, to begin with, he’ll only be here for a couple of weeks,” she said smartly, reminding them. “Maybe not even until Christmas.”
Sue Ann shrugged. “A holiday fling can be nice. Take it from me.” She ended with a knowing nod since she and Adam had started dating at Christmastime. But Candice remained aghast because it was two very different things. “You guys want me to . . . just . . . like . . . hook up with a guy I know won’t be here in a month?”
The next playful shrug came from Rachel. “I wouldn’t have a problem with that. Don’t get me wrong—relationships are great. But they don’t have to be lifelong to be good ones, and there’s nothing wrong with having some fun when a hot guy comes to town for a little while.”
“That’s not really my style,” she informed Rachel, giving her head a quick shake, then said to them all, “And besides, he’s not my type.”
“You don’t like hot guys?” Tessa asked accusingly.
It made her flick a sideways glance toward Jenny, since she’d started all this. “Hello? Scary stranger, remember? Supposed to be careful around scary strangers, call you and Mick if any show up. Does that ring any bells?”
“Wait—what are we missing here?” Amy asked.
Just as Jenny said to Candice, “That was before we met him. Mick thought he seemed okay. Quiet, but willing to work hard, and seemed smart at figuring out the best ways to do things. And obviously Grampy likes him or he wouldn’t have offered him a place to stay.”
“And,” Rachel added, “just to be safe, late yesterday Mike took a glance at his truck at Mo’s and ran the plates. No priors, just a few speeding tickets, so no worries there.”
Candice only sighed. Blinked. Then looked to Amy and all of them. She really hadn’t wanted to get into this, but now she had no choice. “What you’re missing is—hot or not, and criminal or not, he still struck me as a little scary when we met, just showing up on my porch in the middle of a blizzard. He had to stay the night and—”
“Oh my,” Tessa interjected, a palm to her chest.
But Candice kept going. “And I was uncomfortable the whole time.”
“What is it that’s so scary about him?” Amy asked.
And Candice tried to think how to explain. “Well, he has a scar near his eye.”
Sue Ann swiped her hand down through the air. “Scar, schmar. It adds character. What else?”
Again, Candice thought about it. And finally concluded, “It’s difficult to put into words, but he’s got a hard vibe about him. It’s just his demeanor. He couldn’t really explain why he was here in any concrete way, which seemed kind of suspicious. And he just seemed like . . . trouble.”
“Look,” Tessa said, “I know where you’re coming from—if any guy on the planet had trouble written all over him, it was Lucky.”
“Mick, too,” Jenny added. “But look how they both turned out. Just because a guy seems bad on the surface, that doesn’t mean he really is underneath.”
“Bad boys can become good men,” Tessa added knowingly.
And Rachel added with a wink, “And even if this one can’t, he’s not here for long, and bad boys can also be a lot of fun.”
At this point, Candice felt ganged up on. And just as convinced as before that Shane Dalton had nothing to offer her that she wanted—hot or not. So she spoke her truth. “It’s easy for you guys to say that,” she pointed out. “You guys all found the love of your lives in your bad-boys-turned-good. But the truth you’re forgetting is, sometimes bad boys are just . . . bad.”
When everyone went quiet, she knew they were all finally remembering her past. The love of her life. Tragic though that was. And now they were just too polite to say it. They’d welcomed her into their circle, but she hadn’t ever spilled her guts to any of them about anything, or even confided the smallest secret for that matter, so despite the banter of a moment ago, she supposed this felt too heavy to acknowledge.
A bad boy right down to the leather jacket and motorcycle, Bobby Wayans had broken her heart over and over again. But she’d kept on trying, believing, that she could make him change. In the end—five long, passionate but tumultuous years later—he’d cheated on her with her best friend and disappeared in the night with some cash and jewelry from her dresser.
After an uncomfortable silence, Edna finally spoke up to say, “Well, if you’re referrin’ to that Wayans boy, he was just a bad seed. You’re right, some just are. Once upon a time, I knew a fella who turned out that way myself. So don’t let these girls push ya with all their good intentions—you trust your gut, hon.”
Just then, the old-fashioned doorbell trilled from Edna’s front porch, and Rachel, being closest, went to answer. A moment later Grampy Hoskins and Shane walked in.
“Lordy, didn’t realize I was interruptin’ a party,” Grampy said, looking uncharacteristically sheepish. “Y’all musta parked around back where I can’t see your cars. But at any rate, for those of ya who ain’t met him, this here’s Shane Dalton. He’s helpin’ out with our repairs the next couple weeks while he waits for some of his own.” Then he looked to Edna. “Come for some apples.”
“Key to the root cellar’s on the hook by the back door, Willie, and I’ll let ya help yourself today,” she said with a wink.
The room had gone even more noticeably quiet at their entry, and as Candice drew her gaze away from Shane, she realized every other woman at the cookie exchange was gawking at him like a teenage girl.
This time it was Grampy who broke the awkward silence—by saying to them all, “Don’t act like y’all ain’t never seen a decent-lookin’ fella around here—you’ve all known me your whole dang lives, after all.”
Light laughter rang through the room, after which Amy offered up, “It’s nice to meet you, Shane, and welcome to Destiny.”
Which prompted Sue Ann to add, “It’s good of you to help out with the repairs. Are you sure you won’t be staying in town awhile?”
But of course he shook his head. “No, just passing through.”
“Offer you fellers somethin’ sweet to eat?” Edna asked.
“We just come from lunch at Dolly’s,” Grampy said, patting his ample belly.
“Sure you won’t take a slice o’ Tessa’s pumpkin bread or my gingerbread?”
Shane gave his head a soft shake, murmured a quiet, “No thank you, ma’am,” and while still somewhat brusque, it was perhaps the most polite Candice had seen him be.
“You know I love your gingerbread, Edna,” Grampy told her, “but I best pass, what with holiday shindigs comin’ and all. Gotta keep my girlish figure.” He ended with a wink at the girls, who giggled softly.
Edna reached for a plate spread with jagged pieces of red-and-white candy and said, “At least have ya some peppermint bark.”
It almost surprised Candice when Shane stepped forward and selected a couple of pieces of it—until he said, “Peppermint’s my favorite,” and tossed a glance in her direction.<
br />
Their eyes met across the room—for some reason she couldn’t quite pull hers away—until Grampy started toward the doorway to the kitchen, saying, “We’ll just grab that there key and let ourselves out the back,” and Shane followed.
Everyone went quiet again, no one breathing even a word until they heard Grampy quietly say, “Here ’tis,” and the back door closed soundly behind them.
And then Edna announced, “Yep, that boy’s a hot one all right—as you young’uns say.” Then she looked directly at Candice. “Forget my advice from before. I’d be open to explorin’ that situation if I was you.”
Six
“If it wasn’t me talking, I’d say you were the prettiest girl in town.”
George Bailey, It’s a Wonderful Life
A path had been cleared to the root cellar through the deep snow, so getting there was easy enough, and the snow had even been removed from the nearly flat-to-the-ground wooden doors. As they opened up the cellar, Shane took a glance around the orchard, spying rows of trees in the distance that looked more like large white mushrooms given the snowfall. And he wondered vaguely what the place looked like in spring, when the apple trees were flowering, or in summer, when they were thick and green and dripping with red fruit.
Following Grampy down narrow steps into a space that was cool but not as cold as he might have expected given the weather, he noticed the descent made the old man move slower than usual and was glad he’d come along to carry the apples up. Grampy knew just where to find the ones he wanted, a bushel each of Red Delicious, Honeycrisp, and Jonathan.
Once they were back in Grampy’s old truck, Shane asked, “So what’s your deal with Edna?”
Grampy looked over from behind the wheel. “Well, I pay her wholesale prices for the apples and she bills me quarterly.”
Shane resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “No, I mean, what’s your . . . relationship with her?”
“Oh,” the elderly man said, getting it now. “Edna? Well, she’s my oldest, dearest friend. I’ve known her the better part o’ forever.”
“So, do you two . . . hang out?” He wasn’t sure why he was asking—but maybe Grampy had him thinking about what it was like to get old. His own father hadn’t made it to sixty-five. And he hadn’t really known his grandparents—they were vague, distant memories from before moving to Montana. He just hadn’t spent much time with anyone this age—ever.
“Guess you could say we do,” Grampy said. “She has me to dinner every couple weeks or so. She makes the best dang apple pie you’ve ever put to your lips. And as you probably heard, her gingerbread ain’t too shabby, either.”
“Is she married?” Shane asked.
“Her husband, God rest his soul, passed a long time ago.”
Shane took that in, thought a little bit more about people, choices, where you end up in life. Damn, maybe his dad’s death had him contemplating shit like that more than he’d acknowledged to himself up to now. The truth was, for better or worse, his dad had been his foundation, the cornerstone of his life. He’d had friends along the way, but they came and went—his father was the only person who’d always been there. And now he was gone.
But that’s why you’re going to Miami. New start. New people. New life. Better life. Maybe. He hoped so, anyway.
“Reminds me,” Grampy said, “don’t reckon I know much about you. You got a family—kids or anything? A wife?”
Shane glanced over at the old man, then back out the window as they crossed a stone bridge that led to the main road. The creek beneath flowed fast with melting snow. “Me? Hell no. I’m on my own.”
“Guess I shoulda figured—reckon that makes it a lot easier to up and head someplace new.” He’d told Grampy about coming from Montana and that his destination was Miami, and that his father had just died.
Shane nodded easily as Grampy inquired further, “Ya got any family a’tall now that your pa’s gone?”
Damn, sounded grim saying it, but there wasn’t any way to put a good spin on that. So he kept it simple. “Nope.”
“No grandfolks? Aunts or uncles? Cousins?”
“Nope.”
“Reckon that ain’t easy,” Grampy said.
And Shane surprised himself by letting out a short laugh and replying, “Guess I don’t know yet—still getting used to the idea.”
Grampy chuckled gently, too, then changed the subject. “Did I see you makin’ eyes at Candice Sheridan over the peppermint bark?”
That earned the old man another sideways look. “Making eyes? No.” He might have noticed her, might have thought she looked pretty today—or kind of fresh or something—in a sort of fluffy snow-white sweater and her hair pulled up into another perky ponytail. But he hadn’t been making eyes.
“Well, what was it then? ’Cause it looked like makin’ eyes to me.”
Shane sighed. “I stayed the night at her place when I wrecked my truck. So I know her a little, that’s all.”
Grampy raised his eyebrows, seeming too interested. “Stayed the night with her, did ya?”
But Shane threw up his hands in defense. “Whoa, whoa, whoa—it’s not like that, trust me. The girl kinda hates me, in fact.”
“What’d you do to her?” Grampy asked, wearing a sly sort of grin.
“Nothing.” He gave his head a short, definitive shake. “But she acted like I was a damn ax murderer for asking to use her phone, and still seems to think I might be one.”
Something about this made Grampy laugh a little more. “Candice is a little shy with fellas is all. Or at least that’s been my observation. And coming to her door late at night in a blizzard—well, probably made her nervous.”
“I know I made her nervous. But hell, it was either make her nervous or die in the damn snow.” Then he looked back ahead, giving his head a short shake.
And Grampy kept on chuckling, even though Shane didn’t know what the hell was so funny. Then he switched the topic again, which suited Shane just fine. “Anybody tell you about the big tree-lightin’ ceremony tomorrow night on town square?”
“Yep.” In fact, it seemed like almost all people could talk about. He stayed mostly quiet when working with the other guys on the cleanup and roof-covering efforts, but he’d heard all about the enormous tree the town ordered every year through Adam Becker’s landscaping company, and that this year they’d had a hell of a time getting it to stand up, and how Logan Whitaker and the rest of the fire department took charge of putting the lights and ornaments on. The ornaments, he’d learned, were made by local schoolkids, but any resident could donate ornaments, too, as long as they were handmade. He’d tried to tune out some of the jabbering about it, but there it was—stuck in his brain.
“You comin’ to it?” Grampy asked as they drove back toward town. “Free hot chocolate and music.”
“Thanks,” Shane said, “but I’ll pass.”
“Why’s that?”
He kept his gaze out the windshield. “Christmas isn’t really my thing.”
“Christmas is everybody’s thing.”
Shane tossed the older man a glance, thinking that was a hell of a big assumption. “Not really.”
“Now, just what do you got against Christmas?” Grampy asked.
They passed by the damaged church then, still waiting for the roof to be covered, and on the opposite side of the road, two teenage boys looked to be constructing a snow fort. “Maybe I, uh, got a lot of coal in my stocking over the years,” Shane offered, tossing the old man half a grin.
“Didn’t know you could do that,” Grampy said, sounding amused.
“Do what?”
“Smile.”
Shane sent another sideways glance across the cab of the truck. “Guess it’s not something I make a habit of.”
Then Grampy got back to the subject. “The tree-lightin’ is one o’ my favorite things.”
“Is that so?” Shane replied absently, more out of courtesy than caring.
“Why, just look at that,” G
rampy said, motioning out the window at the tall tree as they drove past the square. “It’s a grand and glorious sight in our humble little town. And I love me a good Christmas tree. Don’t put one up in my own house the last few years, so I think of the town’s tree as my tree.”
Shane threw it back on him. “If you love them so much, why don’t you put one up?”
The old man sighed. “Puttin’ up trees ain’t for the feeble—and guess, much as I hate to admit it, I’m gettin’ feebler by the year. Back can’t take the work.” A moment later, Grampy pulled his truck into the narrow driveway next to the General Mercantile that led to a small lot in back and got it parked. Then looked to Shane. “You really don’t like a nice Christmas tree?” He sounded truly perplexed, like he just couldn’t fathom that.
But Shane only shook his head. “Not particularly. Like you say, it’s a lot of work. Putting it up, taking it down. All for a few lights for a couple of weeks. Don’t really get the appeal.”
After Grampy killed the engine, they both got out, slammed the old pickup’s doors, and started toward the warmth of the Mercantile.
“Tell you what,” Grampy said, unlocking the front door, then turning the Closed sign to Open as they stepped in. “Why don’t you come over to my house tomorrow evenin’ for supper. I’ll set a cottage ham and green beans and potatoes to simmerin’ in the slow cooker for us—and that’s a good country meal right there. Then we’ll go to the tree-lightin’ and see if it don’t impress ya none.”
Shane eyed Grampy Hoskins. “Let me get this straight,” he said. “You’re bribing me with a home-cooked meal to get me to go to this tree thing.”
“Hadn’t quite thunk of it that way, but reckon that’s about the size of it.”
Shane weighed his options and said, “Well hell, I never could turn down a good bribe.”
The following morning Shane’s muscles ached when he woke up to the sun shining in the window covered only by thin curtains he thought had once been yellow but were closer to white now. He pushed back the covers and stood up. Climbing around on a roof with a steep pitch plus sleeping on a lumpy sofa bed with springs that had seen better days was a recipe for soreness. But at least they’d gotten the church roof covered yesterday afternoon.
