“What? Me? No! I mean, okay, in the name of full disclosure and equal sharing here, I did give up my place in town and, yes, my bank account has seen better days because the one class I skipped in college was accounting and business management but, technically, I have the cabin. Just not right now.”
“So you’re homeless,” Quinn deadpanned. Her lips parted and he swiped a finger across her cheek. “I’m teasing. You’re homeless because of us. That wasn’t my intention coming out here.” He glanced at the cabin then back at her. “Strange that we’d both be drawn to this old place at the same time for similar reasons, don’t you think?”
Her eyes opened wide.
“Well, maybe this forest is enchanted. They do say faeries have been spotted over at Reindeer Meadow, and that’s not too far from here,” Lia said.
Was she being serious?
“For real?” Jax said from the doorway, his voice wiping away the fear that Lia was a little loopy. “This place is awesome, Daddy. They have reindeer, faeries, elves and—you have to come see this—Miss Lia’s cat is sitting on the toilet!” He ran back inside as quickly as he’d appeared.
Quinn raised an eyebrow.
“You trained your cat to—”
“Yes, but, for the record, the elf at Posey’s is a doll and, no, I haven’t actually seen faeries myself,” Lia said.
“Good to know,” Quinn said. “I was beginning to wonder if I’d find ‘slay dragons’ on the list of things you want me to do around here.”
Her laughter only heightened that crazy feeling he had that he’d slay a thousand dragons for Lia Logan.
~*~
Lia had spent plenty of nights at Holly Haven in the past. Orphaned baby animals usually meant no sleep on her part, but the past few nights had really done a number on her back. The tension in her shoulders had nothing to do with sleeping in awkward positions or falling asleep on her laptop while filling out grant applications. She couldn’t stop thinking about Quinn and Jax. She couldn’t stop wanting to be up at the cabin with them, instead of alone at the Haven. Not that she wasn’t busy.
Today, had been a long one for sure. First, she’d attended a friend’s wedding, then she’d gotten a call from Esther’s House, a local B&B, about a white pigeon with a banded leg that had been huddled on one of its dormer windows for hours. Said pigeon was now safe at Holly Haven, drinking plenty of water, to Lia’s relief, and pecking at feed. Judging from its decent muscle tone and normal droppings, "Snow White" was going to be okay. According to band records, home was less than a hundred miles away. A little rest and she’d be able to find her way back. Lia really needed to get out of the habit of naming animals and growing attached. It only made letting go harder when the time came for them to leave. She couldn’t help it, though. To her, giving a name meant each of her residents wasn’t just an animal in need, but a deserving individual.
She quickly went over the next day’s schedule with Molly and wrapped things up. Butterflies flitted in her stomach the entire snowmobile ride up to the cabin. It’s just hunger. That’s all. Stop dreaming, Lia. Snow sprayed as she took the bend in the path and pulled into the clearing. Dreaming didn’t explain what Quinn had done to the place over the past few days.
She could hear the whirring of the table saw in the shed and Jax was halfway done with building a snowman near the spruces by the shed. The eaves of the cabin and all the windows had been trimmed with scalloped wood edging. Lace-like patterns had been carved at intervals and detailed cut-outs had been attached in others. A giant snowflake, also carved from wood, hung on the front door. Her cabin was beginning to look like a life-sized gingerbread house in the woods.
But what really blew her away was the ornate, mini-gingerbread house hanging from the naked branch of the sugar maple that shaded the left side of the cabin in the summer. She waved at Jax as she headed over to the birdhouse. The contrast of the darker, natural bark roof against the lighter oak and all the details of the classic Victorian homes in Christmas Town were breathtaking. Rustic, yet ornate. Decorative, yet functional. She ran her fingertips along the miniature picket fence that rimmed the bottom and came to the backside. Tears threatened. Good tears. He’d included a latched door at the back for cleaning it out seasonally. He understood. He hadn’t simply built a birdhouse for the looks, he’d thought about what she’d need in order to properly take care of her wild songbirds.
“It’s not painted yet. I’ll need supplies for that as well as warmer weather for curing,” Quinn said, walking over from the shed with Jax.
“Quinn. It’s…it’s gorgeous. All of it is,” she said, holding out her hands at all his work. “This isn’t patching a few holes. This is incredible.”
Quinn shrugged and tucked his hands in his back pockets. “I’m not really a handyman, but the repairs that could be done in these temps were pretty simple. The place should be draft free. The bathroom and bedroom door should stay on their hinges—”
“You’re definitely not a handyman. Quinn, this isn’t just woodwork. This is artwork. I had imagined you making cabinets or even tables, but this? I had no idea,” Lia said.
Quinn grimaced and ran his hand through his hair before replacing his hat.
“I did make furniture and custom pieces. This kind of stuff I did on the side. Kind of a hobby. But none of it paid off. Not everyone out there appreciates that hand-made work costs more because more time goes into it. The world isn’t the way it used to be,” Quinn said.
Lia put her hand on his arm. As young and handsome as Quinn was, inside, he was an old soul. He embodied the heart of Christmas Town and didn’t even know it.
“You’re talking about your shop going under because of a chain store, aren’t you? But that doesn’t mean you should give up doing what you love or turning your back on a gift you have. People here love hand-made gifts. Those very customers who shop in big city stores, come here on vacations and go crazy buying pieces they see as unique, not only because of the quality and workmanship, but because it carries memories of their stay in Christmas Town.”
“All I did was carve some scrap wood.”
“No. You turned trash into treasure. You took recycled barn wood and wood from fallen trees and turned it into something that should be in everyone’s yard. Quinn, I’m not the best business woman out there, but come on. That kind of marketing niche is gold. You’d be helping me get folks to hang homes for wildlife. If I had a loft designed like this down at the shelter, Snow White would have had a place to rest.”
“Snow White?”
“Never mind. The point is you could open a shop in Christmas Town. Oh my gosh, you could even sell gingerbread houses made of wood for kids like Mrs. B’s granddaughter who is gluten free and can’t even touch things made from regular flour. And imagine the doll houses you could make. Or the ornaments and toys like Jax’s train. Think about it.”
“No way. I won’t take a risk like that. Not again. I lost everything, Lia. I put my life into building something and lost it all. I need to find a regular job. One where I’m not turned away for being overqualified. One that comes with steady pay and benefits. I’m a single parent. I need to be realistic. No more risk taking.”
“But, I’m just saying that—”
“No, Lia.” He looked over at Jax, who was sticking twigs into the mid-section of a new snowman he started building by the cabin door. “It’s not happening.”
He was sounding like her mom and sis who’d been forever encouraging her to make a steady income. She understood that life was different once you were a parent. She really did, but to see him throw away this incredible, artistic gift he had with wood was plain sad.
What if she could prove to him that his work would sell? That word of his talent could spread like wildfire and turn into a new business? She couldn’t afford extravagant gifts this year, but if she put Quinn’s talent to good use and paid him what she could for labor…
“Fine, Quinn. I didn’t mean to overstep. I just really love your work.
So much that I think you saved my Christmas gift dilemma. If I can find a way to pay you, or at least let you have the cabin longer, would you at least make me a few more of these gingerbird houses?”
Quinn paled and dropped his hands to his sides.
“What did you just call them?” he asked.
Chapter 5
Quinn put the last box of tools back in its place. He’d spent a good part of the last few days digging through and organizing his grandfather’s shed. Nothing had come up in the shed, the cabin or anywhere in the area that explained anything being inside of a gingerbread…or gingerbird…house. Maybe it wasn’t about the stroke slurring old Weston’s speech. Maybe it had sped up his dementia and Quinn needed to forget about what he’d said before dying.
He turned off the light in the shed and headed back to the cabin. Night had already fallen, but a full moon from a few days back still lit the snow around him like the nightlight Jax used to have in his room. Quinn took a deep breath and his lungs filled with crisp, clean, cleansing air. No hint of exhaust fumes or garbage dumpsters. No wonder his grandfather had chosen to live here. No wonder he’d been furious when Quinn had him transferred from the hospital to his place in the city. Gramps had needed someone at his side and Quinn didn’t want him stuck in a nursing home. He’d hoped that being around his great-grandson would help him hang on a little longer. But although Quinn had spent his savings on his grandfather’s medical care, he hadn’t been able to buy him better health or a longer life. Money did have its limits.
Quinn eased the door to the cabin open, knowing that Jax might be asleep already. All that play in the snow was enough to wipe a kid out. Lia’s voice carried from the bedroom. Quinn sat down on a kitchen chair and stripped off his boots as he listened to her telling Jax a bedtime story that involved talking animals on some wild survival adventure. He had to admit, she even had him captivated. She definitely had a knack for storytelling.
He went over to stoke the fire and noticed Storm enjoying the cat-shelves he’d built on the corner wall by the window…simple, staggered shelves where Storm could climb, take naps or enjoy the window view of the birdhouse. The cat blinked lazily at him.
“You’re welcome.” Quinn smiled and grabbed the poker from its stand. He added another log and pushed it into place. Sparks popped wildly and he looked up to make sure none had escaped the hearth area. He hadn’t viewed the mantel from a crouched position before. There was a peg on the inner side of each support. Pegs that weren’t mortared into the stonework.
His pulse kicked up. Grandpa, you sneaky old man.
Quinn set the poker aside and quickly cleared the mantel. He stood at its center and pulled on it evenly. It shifted. The second attempt had him stumbling once to regain balance as he held the solid piece of wood. He perched it on the arms of the couch and turned back to the hole that was exposed in the stone. An old fashioned wall-safe, about two feet wide and six inches in height. He reached in and pulled out a wooden box. Carved into the lid was a gingerbread house with a gingerbread boy and girl standing next to it. The side was also carved with To Gertie, with Love. Gertrude was his late grandmother.
Quinn rubbed his nose with the back of his hand to stop the stinging and swallowed hard against the lump in his throat. It’s in the box with the gingerbirrrd houssse. He sat in his granddad’s armchair and opened the lid. A stack of photos tied together with a piece of twine lay on top. He flipped through them. There was one of his great grandparents waving from a boat. And there was another of his grandmother, smiling in the garden about a year before she died. Quinn lifted the next photo to the light. Well, I’ll be. It was of himself, at the age of seventeen, looking annoyed at the camera and in the background, sitting on a haystack reading a book, was Lia as a young girl, barely twelve if he remembered their age difference correctly.
He re-stacked the photos and took his grandfather’s folding knife from the box. It glistened in his palm. The rims of his eyes burned as he ran his fingertips along the blade. It had been his great-great-grandfather’s. His grandfather used to tell him that, someday, it would be his. That it would be up to Quinn to carry on both the family journey and the Weston belief that, no matter where life took you, you could build something from nothing. His granddad would sit there on a summer evening, whittling a stick and telling Quinn that all it took to find your place in life was a small knife, a piece of wood and a lot of heart. Quinn had been too young and stubborn to hear the wisdom and advice in his words back then. And maybe now those words were too late.
He closed the knife and slipped it into his pocket then took out the only thing left in the box—a small, velvet sack. He dumped it out onto his palm. His grandmother’s antique wedding ring glittered in the firelight. You must’ve known, Gramps. I wouldn’t listen, but you knew Elena didn’t deserve Grandma’s ring. He curled his fingers around the ring and held his fist to his mouth. His lips curved in a bittersweet smile. Somehow he knew his grandfather was at peace knowing Quinn had found his treasures…the kind that meant so much more than money. A dark part of him had hoped his grandfather had stashed away savings. Money that would help Quinn get back on his feet or at least make life easier for Jax. Even a few bucks. God help him, the photos, knife and ring were priceless to him. They were all he had left from his family. They were all he had of significance that he could pass down to Jax so that his son would have some sense of his roots…of his family’s past. But what about the present?
He slipped the ring back into the pouch and put it in his pocket then closed the box. He looked at the engraving on the cover. Where did he draw the line between survival and sentimentality? Could he bring himself to sell the knife and ring for Jax’s sake? Or would he be robbing his son of something he’d never be able to replace?
The door to the bedroom creaked shut. How long had she been standing there?
“It’s beautiful,” Lia said, nodding towards the box. She sat on the floor by the fire, tucked her knees to her chest and tapped the edge of her cell phone against her feet.
“Yeah.” Quinn cleared his throat. “Sorry about the mess.”
Lia didn’t answer. She rubbed her thumb along the edge of her cell phone and stared into the fire before finally looking up.
“Quinn, I think this place is more yours than mine. It may be my property, but it’s your roots.”
“Don’t. The only reason my grandfather lived here was because he managed the farm. This cabin was a job perk and the only reason he stayed here as long as he did was because your family was kind enough not to kick him out when he’d passed his prime. I appreciate that, as I’m sure he did. But this place didn’t actually belong to him and it doesn’t belong to me. And as thankful as I am for you letting us stay here, I don’t need Logan family charity.”
He set the box on the coffee table and got up to replace the mantel. She didn’t understand. He was here for Jax. Yes, they needed a place to stay. Desperately, for that matter, but he was working to earn his keep. Staying beyond that wasn’t right. He didn’t want hand outs. He wanted work. He needed to feel worthy again.
Lia stood up and crossed her arms.
“It’s not charity. This was his home. Not just some place he was staying in for work. He may not have owned this cabin, but he did put down his roots here. He was a part of this farm. A part of its history. That makes this place a part of yours. That box being hidden here is proof.”
“He didn’t own it. I didn’t inherit it. And I don’t have the money for rent.”
“But I’m offering it to you rent free. At least for a month or two. It’ll be one less thing for you to worry about while you find a job,” she said, checking her cell phone as she walked towards the kitchen, as if it was a done deal and he had no say.
Quinn’s jaw ached. He raked his fingers through his hair then shook his head.
“This is your land. Logan land. And this is the place you plan to live in. Trust me, I appreciate the temporary shelter and you letting me work for our stay, bu
t don’t keep trying to save us, Lia. I’m not one of your rescue projects.”
~*~
Lia felt as if she’d been slapped. She bit her lip to keep her chin from quivering. She thought he’d be happy…relieved…to have a rent free place. Sure, that meant she’d have to stay at Holly Haven for awhile longer, but Storm seemed happy staying with Jax at the cabin and the Haven’s overnight room was comfortable enough for now. She’d manage. If Quinn and Jax could survive what they’d been through, she couldn’t complain. If anything, she was blessed. Sometimes it did take witnessing someone else’s loss and suffering to see your own situation differently. She didn’t want to burden anyone, but at least she had family…she had an entire town for that matter…who’d always be there for her.
“I didn’t mean it as an insult,” she said, giving up on getting reception on her phone. She put on her coat and gathered her bag. Now was definitely not the time to bring up that the town had a drop off for gifts for kids in need or that the elementary school had backpacks and supplies for those without the budget for them. Jax had told her that he missed having friends.
“Jax is sleeping. I’ll be heading out,” she said.
“Thank you for keeping him company and for getting him to bed. I can’t recall the last time someone other than myself did that. And I didn’t mean to snap at you.”
“No big deal.” She hoisted her bag on her shoulder and forced a smile.
“Lia, you shouldn’t go. I mean, it’s dark out. You usually leave before sunset. I can’t leave Jax alone or I’d—”
“I’ll be fine.” She opened the door and a slurry of wind and snow had her spinning her face into Quinn’s chest. He reached over her and forced the door shut. She looked up at him and he narrowed his eyes.
A Heartwarming Christmas: A Boxed Set of Twelve Sweet Holiday Romances Page 76
