Mending Christmas With The Billionaire (Artists & Billionaires Book 2)

by Lorin Grace

  Contents

  Copyright

  one

  two

  three

  four

  five

  six

  seven

  eight

  nine

  ten

  eleven

  twelve

  thirteen

  fourteen

  fifteen

  sixteen

  seventeen

  eighteen

  nineteen

  twenty

  twenty-one

  twenty-two

  twenty-three

  twenty-four

  epilogue

  Lorin Grace’s Readers Club

  Dear Reader,

  Sneak peek of Mending Walls with the Billionaire

  acknowledgments

  about the author

  Other Books By Lorin Grace

  American Homespun Series

  Waking Lucy

  Remembering Anna

  Reforming Elizabeth

  Healing Sarah

  Artists & Billionaires

  Mending Fences

  Mending Walls

  Mending Images

  Mending Words

  Mending Hearts

  Copyright

  Cover Design © 2018 LJP Creative

  Photos © iStock, Deposit Photos

  Formatting by LJP Creative

  Edits by Eschler Editing

  Published by Currant Creek Press

  North Logan, Utah

  Mending Christmas © 2017, 2018 by Lorin Grace

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without permission in writing from the publisher. This is a work of fiction. Characters, names, locations, events and dialogue in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are represented fictitiously.

  Second edition: August 2018 AISN: B0782Y15P8

  For Cindy

  Não há nada nesta terra a ser mais

  valorizada do que a verdadeira amizade.

  one

  Araceli dropped her backpack on the kitchen table. “I hate finals!”

  Tessa patted her back. “It could be worse. You could have to grade them. Why I ever took on teaching The Elements of Glass and History of Stained Glass in America, I’ll never know.”

  “Remember, you are the idiot who asked your students to write a paper due at the end of the term.” Candace opened the Rembrandt-painted cupboard and retrieved a glass. “Now you know why most teachers request them before Thanksgiving break.”

  Araceli opened the fridge. “At least I didn’t have any of those this term. But I feel as if the entire contents of the Louvre are stuck inside my head trying to get out and I can’t remember which one was painted in 1592.”

  Tessa didn’t look up from her computer. “Carracci’s Virgin, or Caravaggio’s Boy Peeling Fruit, but Boy is in Rome, not Paris.”

  Candace sat at the table, her short red hair and green T-shirt giving her an elfish air. “I still don’t know how you remember so much. It’s been four years since you took Renaissance Art History.”

  “Spending most of the year in Europe helped me place them. So, what have you decided to do for Christmas break?” Tessa snatched one of Araceli’s cookies.

  Araceli pulled her plate away. “I’m going to lock myself in my bedroom and read novels. Then I am going to sketch a Boston blizzard by leaving the paper untouched.”

  “My dad confirmed this morning that he is coming here for Christmas as my sister and her husband are off to Hawaii. With the empty room, I figured it worked. Did you two get Mandy’s invitation? New Year’s Gala hosted by C & O in Chicago?” Candace scrolled through her phone. “I don’t want to go alone, and I am not bringing a plus-one.”

  Tessa checked her calendar. “I’ll be back by then. Mom is going to Connecticut to celebrate Christmas with Grandma, and I can only stand her couch for so long. I don’t go to Park City with Dad until the second or third.” Tessa’s computer chimed. She turned her attention to the email. She checked the From line twice. “It’s from Gavin.”

  “Delete it!” her roommates said in unison.

  “The subject is ‘Help! Broken Window in NY.’” Tessa opened the email. “He says a church in Blue Pines had one of its windows damaged by a drone. They need it fixed by Christmas. The window is over 120 years old. He can’t do the repair job because of his wedding.”

  “Of course not, the slime.”

  “Hey, guys, remember, I did kiss him back. I just didn’t know he’d kissed all the other interns, too.” Tessa held up a hand. “And he does get points for tossing a sweet job my way. Look at these photos.” Tessa turned her laptop around. “I needed another repair job for my MFA to be complete, and this works perfectly. I can do it, go see Mom and Grandma for a couple of days, be back for the Gala, and still go to Park City with my dad for a few days before school starts again.”

  Candace shook her head. “Sometimes, Tess, I think you try to keep yourself too busy.”

  Sean Cavanagh dusted the old organ’s keyboard. It wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t make $4,000 appear. There just wasn’t enough in the church’s building fund to pay for the repairs the old lady needed. Especially not now with the Nativity window broken. Two weeks ago he’d boxed up the trumpet pipes to send out to be fixed in time for Christmas Eve. That same afternoon the teens had sent their drones careening into the building.

  “Sean, there you are. I have good news. I won’t have to dip into my rainy-day fund after all.” Sean’s grandfather leaned on his cane as he came up the aisle, his black shirt and starched clerical collar ironed to perfection. “I got an answer from Gavin. His college friend agreed to do the windows and not charge for his time. Someone by the name of Doyle will be here Monday afternoon or Tuesday morning. We can have our window for Christmas. I need to go speak with Margo about a room. If someone is willing to do the job without pay, we can at least give them room and board. She never lets out the old housekeeper’s room—too small and cramped.”

  “Granda, are you sure Gavin said this Doyle would work pro bono? After all, he bid $8,500 to do the work himself.”

  “Yes, he said Doyle was working on an MFA and needed another project. And we would only be expected to pay for the glass and whatever else they use to repair the window. He still says we should invest in a new protective window or glazing.”

  Sean came down from the organ loft. “But if the glass needs to come from some special place like Gavin suggested, it could be more than $1,000. All we have is an estimate from a guy you met once and now his word that some other guy is going to donate $7k worth of work.”

  “Your problem is you have too little faith.”

  “And yours is you have too much. Don’t you see, Granda, the pews sit empty most Sundays? The big denominations have other means to fall back on if their donations fail, but what does your little church have?”

  “We have Christmas.”

  “But it’s not enough anymore.” Sean ran his hand down his face. The argument was far from new. More than a century ago these walls served a noble purpose providing both Catholics and Protestants a place to worship. For a few brief years, this little building may have been the only place on earth the sects got along. But as the number of congregations grew and the commu
nity recovered from the fire that had destroyed the north half of town, they’d moved into their own buildings, leaving the little Church of the Nativity to fill the tiny gap of nondenominational and community Christmas services and to remind the members of all the churches what they had in common.

  Sean’s grandfather sat down on the front pew. “Christmas will always be enough. It always has been.”

  “That is why you can’t afford an organist?” Not that there is much of an organ to play. Explaining why he could not do the needed repairs was as futile as all the other arguments. Angels were not going to come down and sing with the organ for Christmas services.

  “Why should I pay for one when I have you? Aren’t you the best in New York? And the way you can repair an organ, I know it will play with no dead notes.” Granda patted Sean’s hand and then shuffled out of the building.

  “But how much longer do I have you?” Sean whispered the question to the empty sanctuary.

  two

  After her GPS tried to send her into the center of the Hudson River, Tessa followed the green signs to Blue Pines. She was tempted to toss the app in the water where the soothing British accent insisted she go. The trip from northern Indiana should have taken her just over ten hours. It had taken closer to fifteen. Driving in clear weather with no traffic jams, not even in Pennsylvania, the only explanation for the delay was that the GPS app had spent most of its time getting her lost.

  “Never follow directions from a guy, Gertie.” She patted the seat of her car.

  At last, a “Welcome to Blue Pines” sign appeared. The steeples of three churches lit the sky. Tomorrow would be soon enough to figure out which one contained the broken window. She pulled into a gas station, filled up, then got directions to the inn. Apparently the town boasted only one inn, which the attendant assured her she couldn’t miss. He didn’t know her or Gertie very well.

  Fortunately he was correct. Located on the river, the inn was easy to find and had an empty parking space.

  Tessa guessed the building hailed from the 1830s. If the walls could talk, what tales would they tell?

  A short woman with gray hair manned the desk—the old-fashioned kind with little mailboxes on the wall behind her. Keys hung from one of the boxes on a large brass ring.

  Tessa set down her suitcase and returned the smile the woman offered. “Tessa Doyle. I believe a Reverend Cavanagh made the reservation.”

  “I’m Margo.” The woman bent her head and studied the paper register. “Where is your husband?”

  “My husband?”

  “Yes, your husband. The reverend made the reservation for a Mr. Doyle. Perhaps you are his daughter?”

  “I am not married, and my father is not with me.” Tessa scrolled through her phone until she found the email. “Here is the email I received.”

  Margo perched a set of reading glasses on the end of her nose. “Well, isn’t this a surprise. You are the one who is going to fix our window?”

  “Our window?” Tessa looked around the lobby.

  “The one at our church.”

  “Oh, yes, I am.”

  Margo appraised her. “Well, you are a breath of fresh air. Those Cavanaghs won’t know what hit them, but I am sure, sweetie, that you are an answer to at least one prayer.” Margo stood and grabbed the key from the last box. “I apologize—this is our tiniest room, but there is a bathroom. We don’t have call to use this much, but when the reverend asked us to donate a room to help with your costs, it was the least we could do.”

  Tessa took the key with its massive ring.

  “Second floor, middle of the hall. Did you get something to eat? The dining room is closed, but the cook may still have some of her corn chowder on the stove.” Margo had crossed the lobby before she finished the sentence.

  “Maybe some bread?” Tessa followed. Chowder wasn’t her favorite.

  The dining room had been cleared for the night. Margo called to an unseen person beyond a door Tessa assumed led to the kitchen. “Anything left we can share with a guest?”

  An answer came almost immediately. “Some tomato bisque and garlic bread sticks. Oh, and some of our famous cheesecake.”

  Margo turned back to Tessa with a smile. “Since the dining room is closed, you’ll need to eat it in your room. Go on up, dear, and I’ll get it delivered as soon as it’s warmed.”

  “How much do I owe you?”

  “This one is on the house. All leftovers, anyway.”

  The room was tiny but not uncomfortably so. The wrought-iron bed could only be called three-quarter size. Too wide for a twin and too narrow for a double. A soft-looking chair sat next to a window and desk. More personal space than in the dorm her freshman year, it would serve nicely for the next couple weeks. A slip of paper on the desk indicated the Wi-Fi password was “guest.” The closet was only large enough to hold five hangers worth of clothes. Good thing she did most of her work in jeans and T-shirts.

  When the anticipated knock came at the door, she opened it to find a teenage boy holding a tray. “Margo says you can’t tip me because it was my drone.”

  “Your drone?”

  “Yeah, lady, the one that flew through the window you are here to repair. Are you going to take your food or what?”

  Tessa reached for the tray, and the surly boy disappeared down the hall before she could thank him.

  “I told you, Granda, no repair person. I’d wait longer with you, but I need to catch the noon train into the city.” Sean put the broom back in the closet.

  “When will you ever learn patience? The noon train won’t be here for over three hours. Margo told me Doyle got in late last night. I am sure he will be here soon. Now, if you don’t mind, I need to visit the throne room.” Reverend Cavanagh vanished into the small corridor leading to the bathrooms.

  Sean grabbed the dustcloth to wipe off the backs of the pews. He noticed the O’Connell kids had eaten bread and jam during Sunday morning’s service.

  “Excuse me.”

  Sean turned to see a blonde wisp of a woman standing two feet inside the door. “Can I help you?”

  “I am looking for a Mr. Cavanagh.”

  “I’m Sean Cavanagh.”

  A tiny frown settled between her eyebrows. “May I see the broken window?”

  Sean waved his arm to the far side of the sanctuary. “Sure, look all you want. Just don’t touch.”

  “But I am going to need to touch it.”

  “Whatever for?”

  “If I’m going to fix it, I’ll need to touch it.”

  “You fix the window?”

  The woman’s chin lifted. “Of course. Why else would I be here?”

  “What happened to Doyle?”

  “Mr. Cavanagh, I happen to be Miss Tessa Doyle.”

  “But you are a woman.”

  “I have been all my life. Is this a problem for you?” She moved her hands to her hips, her eyes flashing. They were almost the same color blue as the glass in Mary’s robe. “Are you objecting to me repairing your window because I am female?” The woman half turned as if to leave.

  Dropping the dustcloth, Sean worked his way out of the pews. “No—yes. I mean, I thought you were a man.”

  “We exchanged emails for nearly a week, and not once did you read my email address and think I might be female?”

  “Your email address?”

  “Glassgirl@college.com”

  “I never saw your emails.” Can hair that color be real? It didn’t look dyed. Sean stepped closer.

  “You didn’t get them? Then who answered them? Who made the reservations at the inn?”

  Sean searched his mind for the name she’d tossed at him and gave up. He reached her side before she could leave. “Miss Doyle, I am sorry. I’m surprised you are not
a man. My Granda kept talking about Doyle, so I expected a man.”

  “Granda?”

  “Grandpa, Grandfather, Grandad, I’ve always called him Granda. Part of my Irish, I guess. Everyone else calls him Reverend.”

  She tilted her head and looked up at him. “Aren’t you the reverend?”

  Sean shook his head. Preaching was the one profession he’d denounced, even as a toddler. “Nope.”

  “So you never read my emails?” Her arms dropped to her side.

  “Not a one.” Sean couldn’t suppress a grin as the fire in her eyes cooled. “Perhaps we could start again, Miss Doyle. Would you like to inspect the broken window?”

  “Is your grandfather here?”

  Sean nodded to the still-empty corridor. “He will join us in a minute. The window is over here.”

  three

  Duct tape. It couldn’t be. But it was. Tessa hoped the tape was one of the cheap kinds that didn’t stick well. The residue would be a pain to remove. “Was there a protective glazing outside?”

  “Glazing?”

  How often did she need to remind herself to use words people knew? “Glass—a clear window—was there one?”

  “Was being the operative word.” He gave her a crooked smile, much like her favorite actor’s.

  Candace! I need one of your lectures now! Brown eyes, dark-auburn hair, and the slightest shadow of a beard—a dangerous combination even if he seemed to have an issue with her. The navy sweater fit fantastic on him too. But she was only going to be here two weeks, tops. No reason to know him any better. If only her mind could relay the message to the rest of her body. Focus, girl, focus!

  “A drone hit it? I wouldn’t think that could cause so much damage.” Tessa tried to trace a large crack only to realize it was a shadow from the broken glass on the other side.

  “The boys were racing their drones. They claim they raced them at speeds over one hundred miles per hour.” Sean shifted behind her, the movement enough to make her aware of his body’s warmth.