by Lizzie Shane
“Son of a—” The brick wall at her back broke off mid-curse, and Ally whirled, embarrassment rising as she lowered her camera.
“I’m sorry! I wasn’t…” The words trailed off as she looked up.
And up.
Past the broad shoulders and the dark, scruffy beard. All the way up to the startlingly pale blue eyes. Winter blue. Her heart leapt into her throat, stoppering the words there, and her hands tightened reflexively on the camera—until she realized Tall, Dark, and Scruffy was glaring at her.
And dripping.
He held a crushed to-go cup away from his body, a giant coffee stain spreading across his shirt where his coat hung open.
“Oh.” Ally groaned. “Your shirt…”
Chapter Three
Ben could not catch a break today.
The line at the Cup had been massive, so he’d made the snap decision to get his caffeine fix at Magda’s Bakery instead. His head had already been throbbing, his patience hanging by a thread—so of course Gayle Danvers, the head of the town’s Christmas Pageant Committee, had chosen the moment he stepped into the bakery to corner him and deliver a fifteen-minute treatise on why the theater that hosted the pageant absolutely needed new curtains, and couldn’t he find the money in the budget for them somewhere?
He’d said no. Because he was always the one who had to say no. Someone had to be realistic. Someone had to consider the costs.
But Gayle hadn’t wanted to take no for an answer. The entire town seemed to think if they badgered him enough he would have to give in—so he got to be the bad guy over and over again. His life had become an exercise in disappointing people.
But that was no excuse for Gayle to accuse him of trying to ruin Christmas when he was just trying to get one cup of coffee so his head would stop exploding.
When Magda had handed him his cup, he’d practically run out the door.
So yes, maybe he had been moving a little too quickly, trying to escape before anyone else latched on to him and asked for money—but the camera-wielding tourist hadn’t been looking where she was going. She’d backed into him before he could dodge out of the way or save his coffee.
He hadn’t gotten a single sip before the contents of his cup were splashing all over his chest. He managed to get the fabric of his shirt away from his skin before second-degree burns could set in, but now the winter air was cooling the sopping fabric and turning his last semi-clean shirt into a clammy mess.
All because some tourist had been too busy gawking to pay attention to the world around her.
She was tiny, though the knot of curly black hair piled on top of her head gave her an extra couple of inches, and she’d still rammed into him with the force of a freaking linebacker. She held a massive camera in her other hand—classic tourist. Treating Pine Hollow like it was Christmas Land at an amusement park. Just here for her entertainment.
“I’m so sorry,” the woman said again. She had one of those sweet, round faces that screamed “nice girl” and was currently drawn into an expression of exaggerated contrition. “I wasn’t looking where I was going—”
“I noticed,” Ben growled, plucking clinging fabric away from his skin.
“I was trying to get a picture of the tree and then the sleigh came around the corner.” She waved behind her toward the square. “Sorry. I can pay for your dry cleaning.”
Ben made it a point not to own anything that was dry clean only, but her words only reminded him that he was currently without a functional washing machine, because Murphy’s Law was actively messing with him. “It’s fine.”
It was not fine.
“At least let me get you another coffee—”
“I don’t have time to get another coffee,” he snapped, the words sharpened by the caffeine headache still pounding merrily away at his temples. “I’m already late to work, and now I have to go home and change because some tourist thinks my town is an adorable little Christmas prop put here for her amusement. People live here, you know. We aren’t just a photo op.”
Her eyes widened. “I never said—”
“Maybe next time you can watch where you’re going instead of expecting the entire world to revolve around you and your camera.”
The nice-girl expression vanished, fire sparking in her dark brown eyes. “I’m trying to apologize. It was an accident. I didn’t run into you on purpose.”
“Well, that’s comforting. If you’d been throwing coffee on people on purpose we’d really have an issue.” He could hear himself being a jerk, and the words just kept spilling out, propelled by the frustration that had been building all morning—not to mention the little drummer boy currently doing a number on his brain.
“I’m sorry. What is your problem?” she demanded, drawing herself up to her full height as the bakery door opened again with a jingle of bells.
The broken washing machine was his problem. The defunct Keurig. The home improvement projects that never got done. The never-ending demands from Paul’s town council seat and Katie’s PTA position. The guilt that he couldn’t give Astrid the yard and the dog that she wanted. The feeling that he was letting everyone down and falling farther and farther behind.
It was all his problem.
And now he was taking his frustrations out on random strangers in the town square. Way to be a role model, West. His old friend Guilt rose up again.
“Just watch where you’re going,” he growled. “This isn’t Christmas Land.” He moved past her—and locked eyes with Gayle Danvers, who stood outside the bakery door, watching him.
Exactly what he needed.
Everyone in town was going to hear about this. Ben sniping at a tourist. The perfect start to the holiday season.
His face heated, and he jerked a terse nod at his audience. “Mrs. Danvers,” he grunted, stalking back toward Katie and Paul’s house to find something dry to wear. Officially sucking at life.
* * *
“Don’t mind him.”
Ally yanked her gaze away from the retreating back of Tall, Dark, and Cranky to face the elderly woman who had exited the bakery.
“That’s our resident Scrooge,” she explained. “Every town needs one, right?”
Ally smiled uncertainly. “I guess.”
She hadn’t exactly been blameless. She hadn’t been paying attention, focused completely on the world in front of her lens, and she’d backed right into him. He’d been a jerk to refuse her apology and treat her like she’d done it on purpose, but she had doused him in coffee—however accidentally.
“Really, don’t worry about it,” the woman insisted, coming forward to pat her arm. “You’re Rita and Hal’s granddaughter, aren’t you?” She nodded at the camera in Ally’s hands. “The photographer?”
“Uh, yeah. Yes, that’s me.”
The woman beamed. “You probably don’t remember me. I knew you when you were this big.” She held her hand up at her waist. “When you used to come up here with your parents. Gayle Danvers? I live just down the street from your grandparents.”
“Right. Of course. Mrs. Danvers. It’s good to see you.”
“I just wanted to say you’re doing a wonderful thing. Putting your life on hold to help your grandparents. How many people would make that kind of sacrifice?”
“Oh, well, it wasn’t such a sacrifice—”
“It was,” Mrs. Danvers insisted, making Ally squirm internally. “And don’t let anyone tell you otherwise. You’re a good girl, Ally Gilmore.” She gave Ally’s arm a final pat. “Don’t you give old Ebenezer West another thought.”
Ally smiled awkwardly, discomfort swirling through her as Mrs. Danvers headed off. She hadn’t come to Pine Hollow because she was some kind of saint. She’d needed this.
In the town square, the tree was upright now, towering over the gazebo. Her camera was still in one hand, but the idea of wandering through town taking pictures had lost all its appeal. She grabbed one last shot of the square and the sleigh—just to spite the Scrooge wannabe—
and then tucked her camera inside her coat, heading back toward her grandparents’ house.
A cold wind had kicked up, and she ducked her head against it, trying to put the moment with Pine Hollow’s answer to Ebenezer out of her mind. She’d felt so good before she slammed into him. And yes, maybe she had been seeing a fantasy version of the town—that soft-focus vision of life that only existed in Christmas movies—but was that really a crime? She should have paid more attention, but was that any excuse for him to be so rude?
She’d actually thought he was attractive, in the fraction of a second before his personality changed her mind. Six feet tall with dark hair, unfairly broad shoulders and those winter-blue eyes. With the scruffy beard, he might look more like a sexy lumberjack than a white-haired miser, but a Scrooge was a Scrooge, and he didn’t deserve one inch of real estate in her brain.
So of course she was still thinking of him that afternoon when her grandparents headed out to the Estates and she closed herself in the office to work on the website. She tried to focus, but she couldn’t stop reliving the moment she’d crashed into him.
Colby sprawled on one of the ragged dog beds that littered the small office, snoring softly. Most of the dogs were napping, the only sound being the Trans-Siberian Orchestra crackling from the old radio. She didn’t know how long she worked, uploading photos and updating descriptions. It could have been minutes or hours later when Colby lifted his head, turning toward the open door to the office and releasing a soft, huffing “Woof.”
Ally angled her head to see through the open office door as the exterior shelter door creaked open and a tentative voice called, “Um…hello?”
A few scattered barks responded as the dogs woke up to greet the new arrival.
A customer.
Ally instantly perked up. “Be right with you!” she called, shoving away from the desk. Colby reluctantly heaved himself to his feet to pad at her side. “I think we’ve got a live one, Colb.”
She pushed the office door all the way open, smiling welcomingly—and forced her smile to remain pinned in place when she saw who was standing inside the exterior door.
Two little girls stood side by side, gripping their backpack straps and glancing around uncertainly. Ally wasn’t great at guessing ages, not having been around children much, but she’d place these two in a vaguely upper elementary school age bracket. Old enough to be running around town on their own, but young enough that they hadn’t yet hit the obnoxious teen years.
And not nearly old enough to adopt a dog without their parents in tow.
Chapter Four
Hi there,” Ally greeted the pair, keeping an eye on the door in case the parents were on their way inside, as the radio shifted into a bluesy rendition of “White Christmas.” “Can I help you?”
The two stood close together, as if drawing support from each other. One was taller and slim with tight reddish curls, while the other was tiny with glasses and black braids on either side of her face.
Colby wandered forward at his maximum speed—roughly half that of a tortoise—and both girls instantly locked eyes on him, though they seemed more entranced than fearful of the big guy.
“He’s friendly,” Ally assured them. “But this one’s not available for adoption. His name’s Colby.”
“Hi, Colby,” the girls cooed at him in unison, extending gloved hands. Colby gave them a half-hearted sniff and, having maxed out his cardio for the day with the ten-foot walk, released a dramatic sigh, sinking onto the floor in a Saint Bernard–shaped heap.
“Don’t be offended by the lack of welcome. The only thing that ranks above sleep for Colby is food. Are, uh, are your parents with you?”
The girls tore their eyes off Colby and exchanged a look. An unspoken agreement passed between them and they drew themselves up, lifting their chins as if they were girding for battle. “I’m Astrid,” the taller of the two announced. “And this is Kimber.”
Ally nodded. “Ally. Nice to meet you.”
The little one with the braids—Kimber—took a deep breath and announced, “We’re looking for a job.”
Ally blinked, barely stopping her lips from twitching. Kimber’s voice was firm and direct. This was serious business. But she also looked to be about eight. “I think there might be some child labor laws against that.”
“Not a real job,” the girl clarified.
“We want to volunteer,” the redhead—Astrid—put in, less forceful, but no less earnest. Her eyes were pleading, begging Ally to listen. “Help out. Walk the dogs or feed them—”
“Or give them baths or teach them tricks—”
“Whatever you need us to do,” the redhead finished. “Anything.”
A lightbulb went on, and Ally allowed herself a smile. “Let me guess. Your parents won’t let you get a dog until you can prove you’re responsible enough to take care of one, so you’re out here to prove it?”
Kimber’s eyes rounded behind her glasses. “How did you know?”
Ally grinned. “I’ve been there. When I was your age, I wanted a dog so badly I could barely breathe. It was all I could think about.”
Astrid nodded eagerly, taking a small step forward. “That’s exactly how we feel. Please. We’ll work so hard.”
It was tempting to say yes—in part because they reminded her so much of herself, but also she’d kind of like the company. But that didn’t mean she could just put these girls to work. “Do your parents know you’re here?”
“Of course.” Astrid’s gaze slid to the side, evading hers.
So the parents have no idea where they are. Great.
What was she supposed to do in this situation? Rat the girls out to their parents because they didn’t technically have permission to be here? Was there really any harm in letting them walk a dog or two? She could start with Fred and Ginger. The elderly dachshund mixes were angels on a leash and wouldn’t give them any trouble. If that went well, they could throw a ball for Harry in the back paddock—the Australian shepherd didn’t have an aggressive bone in her body, but she needed to get her zoomies out on a regular basis.
It sounded harmless enough, but if either of the girls so much as got a skinned knee and their parents didn’t know they were here…“I’m sorry—” Ally started.
Gravel crunched beneath tires in the front drive, sending a cascade of barks bouncing off the rafters.
“We’re really good with dogs,” Astrid pleaded, until a shout from the driveway outside cut her off—and saved Ally from having to break the girls’ hearts.
“Hallooo!”
Even Colby summoned the energy to lift his head at that familiar voice and relief whispered through Ally. Gram would know if it was kosher to accept kids as volunteers.
“That’s my grandmother,” Ally explained. “We’ll see what she thinks.” She moved past the girls to the door, pushing it open to find Gram opening the tailgate of her ancient Subaru. “Hey, Gram.”
“Hey, sweetie,” her grandmother called back, without looking away from whatever she was messing with in the back of the hatchback.
A gust of wind blew across the driveway, and Ally shivered in her sweater. She’d forgotten to grab her coat from the shelter office, and she wrapped her arms around herself to hold the warmth in. Astrid and Kimber stood just outside the barn door, both still in their puffy winter coats, hovering nearby as if watching for an opportunity to press their case.
Ally headed toward the back of the Subaru, looking around for her grandmother’s chauffeur. “Where’d Gramps go?”
“Hm?” Her grandmother barely glanced up. “Oh, you know your grandfather. He’s still cleaning up at that poker tournament.”
Ally frowned at the old Subaru parked crookedly across the driveway. “Did you drive yourself back?”
“I got a call from Selina over in Franklin,” her grandmother replied, as if that answered the question. She crooned into the back and Ally heard a definite canine whimper. “This precious girl needed us. She’d been abandoned
. Running around loose after her family moved away and just left her behind. Can you imagine?”
“Gram.” Ally groaned, ignoring the dog for the moment. “Tell me you didn’t go all the way to Franklin and back by yourself. You know you’re not supposed to be driving.” The old Subaru was a stick shift, and Gram was supposed to be resting her right arm. “You should have called me,” Ally insisted. Though she shouldn’t be surprised her grandmother had driven fifty miles the second someone told her there was a dog in need. Gram had the biggest heart of anyone Ally had ever met—and a definite tendency to leap before she looked.
“It was a little drive, and I’m fine. See?” Gram waved her right arm vigorously, her gaze sliding past Ally. “Hello, Astrid. Hello, Kimber.”
“Hello, Mrs. Gilmore,” they chorused.
They knew each other. Of course they did. Everyone knew each other. Ally was the odd one out around here. And the only voice of reason in this insanity.
“You could lose the use of your arm if you reinjure it,” Ally reminded Gram, though the words didn’t make a dent in her grandmother’s fixation on the carrier crate in the back.
“Then it’s lucky I didn’t,” Gram said blithely. “Besides, this was an emergency. Look at that face.” It was an adorable face. Part spaniel, by the look of it, with long silky ears and huge help-me eyes. “I’ve been thinking we can call her Dolce. Doesn’t she look designer?”
Ally refused to get distracted. “Does Gramps know you took off with the car?”
“You know how he is when he’s playing. I’ll be back there before he knows I’m gone.”
Oh no. “You are not driving yourself back out there. I’ll pick Gramps up. And next time you have to call me. This is exactly the stuff I’m here to help with.”
“Fine.” She rolled her eyes. “I’ll call you next time. But isn’t she sweet?”
Ally sighed. “Very sweet,” she admitted, conceding defeat for the moment—and wondering what her grandfather would think when he looked up from his game to find Gram gone. He’d always been the sensible one in their relationship—and the only one who could get Rita Gilmore to do anything she didn’t want to do.
