Christmas in Destiny

by Toni Blake

  Say something. “Hi.”

  He appeared surprised. Maybe by her simple pleasantness. “Hi.”

  “Come in,” she said, blinking some more—but then even going so far as to reach out the open door and tug on the sleeve of his coat. What are you doing? Stop that.

  As his eyes dropped to her fingers on his sleeve, he looked as taken aback as she felt. “This is a far cry from the last time I knocked on a door you answered.” Then he shook his head as if trying to clear it. “Am I dreaming? Did I miss something?”

  He was being a smart-ass. But she supposed she deserved that. “I’m . . . over whatever my problem was. It was just jarring to have a stranger at my door in the middle of the night.”

  “Yep. Got that. Loud and clear.”

  “But everyone says you’re an okay guy, so . . . I’m happy to have your help with this.”

  He just gave her a look from beneath guarded lids, along with a small smile. Which she somehow felt in her panties, but tried not to. “You’re spoiling me. I’m waiting to wake up any second now.”

  “It’s not a dream, I promise,” she assured him as he finally stepped inside onto the braided oval rug in Miss Ellie’s small foyer. “I can be a nice, normal person.” Even if I can’t stop this darn blinking. She blinked again.

  In response, he gave a short nod—and even if he still looked a little suspect, he said, “I can, too.”

  “Good. That will make this a lot more pleasant.” She glanced across the room to the cottage’s owner. “Now come and meet Miss Ellie. And don’t mind that she’s hard of hearing—just roll with it.” She realized then that her hand was on his sleeve again and she was pulling him by it. But she pursed her lips and looked away as she dragged him gently across the room, trying to roll with that as if it was normal, too.

  “Miss Ellie,” she said loudly, “this is Shane! He’s come to help us prepare for the party!”

  “Well, what’s a shame about that? Sounds more like a blessing. And he’s easy on the eyes, too!”

  For some reason, the last part made Candice fear she was blushing. As if in agreement. Which made it so she couldn’t look at Shane then, even though she kind of wanted to, to acknowledge Miss Ellie’s hearing error. Instead, though, she tried again. “No, his name is Shane. Shane Dalton.”

  “Well, it’s nice to meet you, Shame,” she said. “That’s a mighty unusual name, but welcome to Destiny!”

  Candice started to try again, “No, Miss Ellie, it’s—”

  But now it was Shane who reached out, closing his hand around her wrist, to say softly, “It’s fine.” And then to Miss Ellie, “Nice to meet you, ma’am.”

  And Candice realized he had indeed rolled with it—better than her. And it made her resolve all the more to just roll with this. With him. Today. All of it. Better than she had so far.

  “Hot chocolate?” she asked him, blinking again. The truth was, she was still trying to get used to looking at him. At all that handsomeness and hotness. And those blue, blue eyes with the little scar to one side. She was still trying to process the tingling sensation that had raced up her arm when he’d touched her just now.

  “Sounds good,” he said.

  Still no gloves, she realized. His fingers had been cool on her skin, yet somehow made her feel too warm. She was glad to escape to the kitchen, glad when he stayed behind and she could hear him attempting polite conversation. “Nice place for a party.”

  “Well, aren’t you the charmer?” she heard Miss Ellie reply. “I’m flattered, but my face is nothing special these days, for a party or anything else. Now when I was younger, I would have knocked your socks off, young man, believe you me.”

  “I do believe you, ma’am,” Shane replied, and it warmed Candice’s heart a little to hear him be so nice to the elderly woman.

  She rescued him then, though, re-entering the room to pass him a steaming mug. He took a sip and said, “Got a truckload of stuff out there, Candy, so you just tell me where you want it all.”

  She nodded, and a few minutes later they got to work together. And her uneasiness finally faded, along with the nervous blinks, thank goodness.

  Some tables they left folded on Miss Ellie’s side porch to be put up in the kitchen and living room the day before the party. Others they set up in the garden—and wiped snow off the smaller ones that resided there permanently throughout the year.

  “Nice garden,” Shane commented as they worked.

  Candice looked around, then said, “It is pretty in winter. But you should see it in summer when there are flowers, or in spring, when the trees are in bloom.”

  “How does she take care of it?” he asked.

  “Her daughters do a lot of it,” Candice explained. “But other people help out, too, from time to time. It’s almost a community project.”

  “You seem like . . . a fixture here,” he commented as he used a broom to clear a small wrought-iron café table of snow, along with the two matching chairs pulled up to it. “Like you know everybody and everybody knows you. I mean, for just moving here two years ago.”

  She supposed she hadn’t been as clear with him on that topic as she’d intended. “Oh—I’ve lived in Destiny all my life. I’d meant that I’d only moved into my house a couple of years ago.”

  He tipped his head back and said, “Ah, that makes a lot more sense. Guess I wondered how you’d become . . . so much a part of things that fast.”

  Maybe the observation shouldn’t have surprised her, but it did. Since, despite being born and raised here, she certainly didn’t think of herself as being very active in the community—though she was glad that was changing. So she simply told him, “Destiny is like that. We embrace people. Some of the guys you’re working with in town haven’t been here all that long, in fact—or they left for a lot of years and came back.”

  “So does your whole family live here?”

  She considered her answer as she used a second broom to sweep snow off the brick walkway that led to the gazebo. “It’s just my mother and me. But Tessa, Lucky’s wife, is my cousin, and so I have her and my aunt and uncle here as well.”

  He nodded. “Your dad die then or something?”

  The question caught her off guard. No one ever asked about her dad because no one had to. Everyone already knew about her dad. It was an old, old subject. And not one she was accustomed to talking about.

  She shook her head, kept sweeping. “I didn’t know him. He left us when I was little.”

  Though she peeked up just long enough to see something on his face that looked like . . . compassion. “Sorry,” he said.

  The simple word reminded her that he’d recently lost his father. Though he’d had him up until now, so it seemed a far different thing, a vastly different kind of loss. But it still prompted her to inquire, “How did your dad die?”

  “Lung cancer.”

  Cancer deaths were hard. She’d known enough people who’d gone through them to understand that. “I’m sorry—that’s rough.”

  He just shook his head. “It happens. Always kinda thought it might. Man had a lot of vices and smoking was one of ’em.”

  She wasn’t quite sure how to take his matter-of-fact response. But then, they barely knew each other and it was a personal topic—maybe he was just putting on a brave face.

  “So it was just the two of you then?”

  He nodded, still working.

  So she kept working, too.

  And a long enough moment passed in silence that it surprised her when he volunteered more. “I know what it’s like—being left that way, the way your dad did.”

  Her chest constricted. Because she thought she’d put on a pretty brave face, too—but maybe he’d seen . . . that she still felt it. The abandonment.

  She still wondered about it—how a man could do that and not look back. She thought she should be long past it now, but maybe she wasn’t. She’d watched her mother struggle for too many years when she was little. She’d witnessed the hurt. And s
he’d felt her own.

  It took a few seconds before she could respond, and even then it was only one quick word. “How?”

  “Haven’t seen my mom since I was little,” he said. “She sent me away with my dad to Montana.”

  “Sent you away?” Maybe it was a horrible thing to ask for clarification on—but she was too dumbfounded to guard her words.

  “Guess I was a pretty bad kid,” he said. “She just . . . wanted me gone.” He’d tried to make that part sound light, too—but it didn’t work.

  And Candice wasn’t sure how to respond. She wasn’t sure how she’d even ended up in such a personal conversation with him. This was supposed to be all business, after all, getting a job done.

  But they’d suddenly catapulted into something deep, and what he’d just said—she felt that, too. Because of her own dad. She’d been younger when he’d left, a toddler—she had only the faintest memories of him. But the feelings were the same. That she’d done something wrong, been unlovable in some way.

  And so even if she wasn’t wholly comfortable with this turn the conversation had taken, she had to say something sympathetic, had to let him know she got it. “It’s an awful thing,” she said softly, “to not be wanted by someone who’s supposed to want you the most.”

  Of course, that was a maudlin, depressing thought. Her reply seemed to cast a deeper cold over the snowy garden. Geez, Candice, merry freaking Christmas.

  Shane kept working for a moment, but then tossed a glance her way that came, oddly, with almost a hint of a smile. “Whoda thunk me and you would have anything in common, Candy?”

  Ah, that’s why the expression. Because it was true, and almost humorous in a way.

  Though one thing still made her bristle. “Just so you know,” she told him, “I’m liking you better, but you have to quit calling me Candy.”

  He challenged her with one arched brow. “What if I don’t?”

  And she couldn’t think of a thing to say to that—other than, “No more hot chocolate.”

  He stayed completely straight-faced. “I’m shaking in my shoes with fear.”

  She raised her gaze to him, conceding earnestly, “Guess I don’t have much to hold over your head.”

  “Nope,” he agreed, looking back to his work. Though it caught her entirely off guard when, a moment later, he said, “I could give you something to bargain with, though.”

  And something in the very suggestion made her nervous as she stopped sweeping again to blink and ask, “What?”

  Instead of giving her an answer, Shane looked toward the big red-upholstered Santa chair he’d unloaded earlier and set near the white picket garden gate. He wasn’t sure what was happening here, like how the hell he’d ended up telling Miss Candy Cane about his mother. He didn’t talk about that, not to anyone. And yet . . . he just had.

  So now he was changing the subject—but it was something he hadn’t totally thought through yet. He motioned toward the oversized chair, ready to move it into the gazebo. And he stayed quiet until they had picked it up together, carrying it toward its appointed spot. “I was thinking . . . of taking Grampy Hoskins a Christmas tree.”

  When she just stared at him across the back of the chair like he’d grown reindeer antlers, he went on—albeit uncertainly. “You know, decorate it, surprise him with it.”

  Tilting her head as they continued carrying the chair, she said, “I thought you didn’t like Christmas or Christmas stuff.” As if she’d caught him at something.

  “I don’t,” he assured her as they maneuvered the two steps up into the white gazebo. “But he does. And I’m thinking he’d like a tree is all.”

  “What makes you think he doesn’t already have one?”

  “Been to his house. He doesn’t. Told me he missed having one but that it’s hard, physically, for him to put one up.”

  Her expression softened, her eyes going a little sad, until finally she said, “That’s nice of you.” Even if she sounded almost pained to admit it.

  Yet Shane wasn’t doing it to be nice—not exactly. He just figured the old man had done him a good turn—a big one—and that he could return the favor. So he only shrugged.

  As they set the big chair in place, however, she went back to looking skeptical. “But what does that have to do with me?”

  He always felt like she was accusing him of something, even now. “Don’t worry, Candy—I’m still not into the raping and pillaging thing. Just figured I could use a little help with it is all. Since I’m not a big fan of that stuff, not sure I really know how to go about it.”

  And when she didn’t answer right away, he decided to let her off the hook. “I’m sure I can figure it out on my own, though.”

  “I didn’t say I wouldn’t help,” she quickly replied. “I was just still . . . digesting it. And also wondering what the bargaining chip is.”

  “If I keep calling you Candy, you can withdraw the help.”

  “Sold,” she told him without missing a beat. “I’m happy to do it.”

  She didn’t smile, but she almost sounded happy. Which almost might have made him think she was beginning to like him, like she’d said a few minutes ago, except that she still kept acting so damn wary of him all the time. What the hell was that about?

  “You free tomorrow? Thought maybe we could take care of it while he’s working at the store.”

  “Yeah, I could do it tomorrow,” she agreed. Even if she already sounded a little reticent again.

  But whatever. He took the high road. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome,” she said softly. And he noticed the color in her cheeks from the cold, and it made him want to keep her warm in a way. But he didn’t know how to make a woman like her warm.

  “You, uh, need a break, inside?” he asked. “You look . . . chilled.”

  She shook her head. “Me? I’m fine. You don’t even have any gloves on. What kind of guy doesn’t wear gloves working out in the snow?”

  “The kind who lost his. And thought he was headed to Miami anyway,” he reminded her. And yeah, his hands were damn cold, as usual. Both Mick Brody and Grampy had offered him a pair of gloves at different points, but he’d refused—acted like he didn’t need them, because . . . he wasn’t sure why. Maybe he just didn’t want any more charity than he absolutely had to take. Shelter. Food. That was enough. His hands would be fine.

  “Aren’t they freezing?” she asked—just as he shoved them in his coat pockets to warm them up a little.

  “They’re okay,” he claimed. He could take it. He could take a lot. And he’d already known that before he’d shown up in Destiny—but being this down on his luck . . . well, he was trying to see it as just one more rough patch of life to get through before Miami. Before fun and sun. And money. Finally some good money. Doing good work. He wasn’t sure if it would be honest work, but it would still be good work—the best he could make it.

  “If you say so,” she said. Skeptical as ever. And then, “That’s it.”

  He didn’t understand. “What’s it?”

  She looked around the garden. “That’s everything I needed you to do. So you’re done—free to go.”

  He gave a short nod. “Oh. Okay.” And felt weirdly disappointed given that it was cold outside and his hands were freezing and he should be more than happy to get in the truck he’d driven here and turn up the heat.

  Then he pointed toward some boxes of white lights, not yet opened, on the cottage’s side porch. “Those for out here?”

  She nodded. “Yes—I thought it would be pretty to put them in the trees, and maybe around the roof of the gazebo.”

  “Then I’m not done.”

  And he didn’t give her a chance to contradict him before he started toward the porch and began unboxing lights, plugging them in, end to end, and stringing them through the trees.

  The truth was, he’d never actually put Christmas lights in trees or shrubs before. Not in his whole damn life. And the further truth was, he almost enjoyed i
t. He couldn’t put his finger on why—it was just one more job to be completed—but there was no denying that the garden looked a little more like a winter wonderland with each strand that went up.

  Candy—which he could still call her in his head even if not to her face—had bought clips that held them in place around the roof and along the posts of the gazebo, and others that stuck in the ground, allowing them to create a lighted path from the garden gate to the Santa chair.

  Shane had only scant memories of any visits to Santa as a kid—and they must have been before Montana because his father just hadn’t been that kind of dad, which suited him fine. But as he stood there admiring their handiwork, he couldn’t help thinking that it would probably feel pretty freaking magical for a little kid to come trotting up this path to see the big guy.

  And he said without weighing it, “Grampy should show up in his sleigh.”

  “Huh?” Candy asked, fiddling with some last lights in a bush next to where he stood.

  He looked over at her. “Grampy should show up here at the party in his Santa suit in his red sleigh.”

  And that was when Little Miss Candy Cane lifted her gaze to his and let out the softest, prettiest gasp he’d ever heard, covering her mouth with one mitten.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked.

  And she said, “That’s amazing,” her eyes sparkling like the lights in the trees all around them. “Perfect. I love it.”

  And he found himself studying her lips, redder than usual from the chill, and looking soft and feminine and like something to be kissed. And he felt a little frozen in time, and not as cold all the sudden, as he started deciding what he was gonna do about that.

  Ten

  “You can put the star up. Way up at the top.”

  Mary Bailey, It’s a Wonderful Life

  Their eyes met, and he could have sworn he saw the same impulse in hers.