Christmas in Harmony Harbor

by Debbie Mason

  “Yes.” She bit her bottom lip as though trying to contain a smile but was unable to. She glanced at him, her eyes sparkling. “I didn’t think it was possible to be this happy, Caine. Although I could do without all the wedding crap. If it weren’t for Rosa, we’d elope. You’re still going to be my man of honor, right?”

  “Of course, and I’ve just come up with the perfect wedding gift for you. A Mercedes SUV. What color would you prefer—pearl black or midnight?”

  “My car is perfectly fine, thank you very much. Besides, we’re asking guests to donate to the Greystone Manor Repair Fund in lieu of gifts.” She grinned at him. “Feel free to donate the cost of a loaded Mercedes SUV.”

  “Right, because you know how much I love to throw away money.” He didn’t want to, but he had to be honest with her. “T, you’ve worked with me long enough to know that I eventually get what I want. You also know that the amount of money required to make the manor architecturally sound, let alone get it up to code, is exorbitant. Not to mention the health risks. Do you have any idea how dangerous black mold is? And if you don’t think there’s mold in the tunnels, and in a dozen other places I can think of, I’ll pay for an expert to check.”

  “What is it with you and old homes? And I know it’s not just Greystone. You’ve been like this since I’ve known you.”

  “I don’t just have an MA in finance and in global business, you know. Emily insisted I learn all aspects of the company. I spent my teen years working for contractors after school and weekends and have firsthand experience with the dangers of historic homes.” Although all the evidence he’d needed to support his theory was provided the summer he turned twelve.

  Traffic slowed to a crawl in front of the town hall with its copper-domed clock tower. From where the car idled on top of a hill overlooking the harbor, Caine could see all of Main Street. The lights from the family-owned boutiques, art galleries, pubs, and gift shops twinkled in the heavy falling snow.

  The town had a seafaring history he admired. The twisty, narrow streets of Harmony Harbor were lined with Cape Cods, Colonials, and Victorians that had once been owned by sea captains and merchants. William Gallagher, who’d founded the town in the early seventeenth century, had captained a fleet of merchant ships. He was also reputed to have been a pirate.

  But while Caine admired the maritime history, he thought it was about time the town embraced the twenty-first century as well. His glass-and-steel office tower would be the first step in doing so. And despite concerns that it would ruin the coastal charm of Harmony Harbor, Caine was positive that once the tower was built and the town began to feel the economic benefits, they would come to view the tower, built to reflect the blue of the sky and ocean, in a more positive light.

  The sound of sirens drew his attention. Theia moved to the right side of the road as a fire truck turned onto Main Street, followed by an ambulance. In a swirl of red and white lights, they passed Theia’s car.

  “Any idea where they’re headed?” he asked Theia, who was waving at a dark-haired firefighter with a lovesick smile on her face. Caine gave his head a disbelieving shake. The woman was a former navy fighter pilot who had once been as unromantic as him. Now look at her.

  “If I were a betting person, I’d say your property.”

  There went his hope of keeping it quiet. Given the time difference, at least he’d have a few hours to do damage control before word reached his grandmother in Ireland. But as another thought came to him, his worries about keeping it quiet were replaced with a whole other worry. “Why would they send out emergency crews?” Before Theia had a chance to answer, he called his uncle. “Seamus isn’t picking up.”

  “He probably can’t hear his phone.” She pulled her car to the side of the road. “It looks like half of Harmony Harbor showed up. And, um, they don’t appear happy with Wicklow Developments if they’re chanting what I think they are.” She grimaced. “You should probably stay in the car while I see what’s going on.”

  “Yeah, like that’s going to happen.” His anger served to make the already difficult job of getting out of the car even more difficult and frustrating. “Your bloody car was built for leprechauns.”

  “Do you need a hand?” Theia offered sweetly, coming around the hood to hold the door open for him.

  “No, I do not…” He made an aggravated sound when she walked away with one of those lovesick smiles spreading across her face, completely forgetting about him and her offer to help as a familiar-looking firefighter approached. Marco DiRossi was wearing a stupid smile on his face too.

  Apparently the car wanted to get rid of Caine as badly as the people of Harmony Harbor, because on his final pull on the strap as he levered himself out, he was ejected from the vehicle with such force that he landed on his knees on the sidewalk.

  “You okay, Caine?” Marco asked from where he stood with his arm around Theia, who was looking at Caine as though she’d just remembered he was there.

  “Never been better, mate.” He got to his feet and slammed the car door. If it weren’t for his audience, he’d kick it. “Everything okay over there?”

  “It depends on how you define okay and in reference to whom. If you’re asking about Evie, she’s okay. A little cold and wet, but otherwise good. And I’m sure all the support she’s receiving is giving her the warm-and-fuzzies,” Marco said.

  “The warm-and-fuzzies? Really?” Caine said, unable to keep the irritation from his voice, especially now that he heard the crowd chanting that he was the one who should be in chains.

  “What can I say? I have a ten-year-old niece. As to you”—Marco jerked his thumb at the crowd—“you and Wicklow Developments are taking a beating in the court of public opinion.”

  “Yeah, I figured that one out on my own, thanks. But it’s a very small and biased court, as it appears to be made up entirely of Ms. Christmas’s friends and fellow business owners.” Caine joined the couple as they walked toward the Evangeline Christmas show.

  “Crowd is growing.” Marco nodded at a group of people crossing the road.

  “Yes, ambulances and fire trucks have a tendency to draw one, especially in small towns. Why exactly are you here?”

  Theia gave Caine a look.

  “What? It’s a legitimate question. Ms. Christmas is obviously trying to turn the public against Wicklow Developments, and HHFD is ensuring she draws a crowd.”

  “We were responding to a call of a female in distress, who turned out to be Evie. Paramedics checked her over, and now we’re just waiting for someone to convince her to give up her protest so we can cut the chain.” At a whirr of sirens and more flashing lights, Marco said, “Looks like HHPD is coming to manage the crowd.”

  “I’ll convince her to stop this—” Caine began as a redheaded woman, followed by a cameraman, broke from a group of people near the temporary fencing to head his way. “It’s him. It’s Caine Elliot. The CEO of Wicklow Developments,” the reporter said as she hurried over to shove a microphone in his face at the same time the cameraman’s light burned his retinas.

  “Mr. Elliot, Evangeline Christmas believes that Wicklow Developments—”

  “Everyone knows what Ms. Christmas believes. It’s not new news. We’ve heard her feelings about the development for a year. But the time for debating is over. The office tower won by an overwhelming majority because the people of Harmony Harbor are looking to the future. This is a difficult time for Ms. Christmas. She’s obviously distraught, and the last thing she needs is to have you people exploiting her breakdown.”

  “Caine,” Theia muttered from behind him.

  “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’d like to check on her.”

  “How could you do that, Caine? You made Evie sound like she’s having a nervous breakdown,” Theia said, hurrying after him.

  “How else do you explain her chaining herself to a bulldozer in the middle of a snowstorm when there’s absolutely no chance of changing the outcome? If she wanted to make a statement that had even
a slightest chance of making a difference, she’d have been better off chaining herself to Holiday House. It’s easy enough to rent another bulldozer.”

  “If you say that to her…” Whatever else Theia had been about to say was drowned out by the boos of the crowd as Marco helped clear the way for them.

  The disapproval of Ms. Christmas’s supporters, no matter how virulent, didn’t bother Caine. What did bother him was seeing the owner of Holiday House shivering in the cold.

  “Of all the lamebrained schemes,” he muttered as he went around Marco to push through the temporary fence. As Caine strode across the frozen ground littered with bricks and charred wood, he realized he’d been wrong. Evangeline chaining herself to the bright yellow bulldozer wasn’t as ridiculous as he’d first thought. The contrast between the heavy piece of equipment and the delicate woman chained to it twigged his protective instincts. And obviously not just his, based on the expressions of the faces in the crowd.

  Ms. Christmas’s eyes rounded as he strode toward her. “It’s you. The messenger. You’re the messenger,” she said through chattering teeth.

  “Yes, and you’re an idiot,” he said loud enough that his remark drew censure from the crowd and from his uncle, who walked over to join him.

  “That’s no way to speak to Evie, lad. He didn’t mean it, lass.”

  “I bloody well did,” Caine said as he took off his wool coat, then crouched in front of her to tuck it around her. “You’ve had your fifteen minutes of fame. And other than pneumonia, your little stunt isn’t going to get you anything.” Her hair was plastered to her head, snowflakes melting on her face. “Give me the key to the chains.”

  “Don’t you listen to him, Evie. What you’re doing here matters.”

  Caine came to his feet and scowled down at his uncle. “What do you think you’re doing? You’re on my payroll, not hers.”

  Seamus dragged him out of earshot. “Have a heart. The poor thing has lost everything because of you, lad. Surely you can do something for her.”

  “I tried, and she told me what to do with my offer. And let’s remember who brought the bylaw to the council’s attention in the first place, shall we? If she’d left well enough alone, she wouldn’t have lost the building.” Although, given its condition, it probably would have caved in during the construction phase of the office tower. Something he’d keep to himself because she’d used that same argument this summer to get the vote delayed in order to allow a company that specialized in heritage homes to render an opinion similar to Caine’s, that construction would cause Holiday House irreparable damage. But they hadn’t because Evangeline couldn’t afford a company that actually knew what they were doing. “If you think you can get her to take the offer, the money will be in her bank account tomorrow morning.”

  “She won’t take it,” his uncle said.

  Caine’s scowl deepened as he rubbed his arms against the cold. His black suit jacket was no doubt ruined. “How do you know she won’t?”

  “Because I already asked. She sees it as a handout.”

  “Of all the…” He stalked back to the woman, noting the stubborn tilt of her chin as he did. The crowd, who’d been quiet while he spoke to his uncle in an effort no doubt to hear the conversation, started cheering the woman on.

  “Don’t give up, Evie! You’re our hero! Stay strong!”

  “You’ll be a dead hero if you don’t give this up. Take the offer I made to you last month, and I’ll increase it by fifty thousand dollars.” He held up the phone and set the alarm. “You have ten minutes to decide. No longer.” He figured that was the amount of time she had before she became hypothermic.

  Something changed in her hazel eyes, and for a moment he thought she’d agree, but then her damn chin went up again. “No. I don’t want your money. I want to make you a bet.”

  “A bet? You want to bet me? With what? You don’t have anything I want.” He couldn’t tell if she’d jerked from the cold or his words. It might be the truth, but it didn’t assuage his guilt for saying it aloud.

  Her eyes glinted with emotion, and he was relieved to see it was anger and not hurt. He felt like cheering her on and then thought how ridiculous that was when he was her opponent.

  “Nephew, a word.” It was the first time Caine remembered Seamus addressing him in a disapproving tone of voice, including when he was a boy.

  “You’re wrong, Mr. Elliot. I have something you need.”

  “And what would that be?”

  “The approval and support of the citizens of Harmony Harbor. If you win our bet, I will do everything in my power to change the hearts and minds of the people who object to the office tower. As you can see, I have a lot of support in this town. You don’t.”

  She had a point. And while they’d won the bid and could now move forward with the project, he had time and money to recoup. They couldn’t afford further delays. Delays that even a few disgruntled people could cause during the construction phase.

  “All right, I’m listening.”

  Chapter Six

  There was a nervous flutter in the pit of Evie’s stomach when she uttered what could very well be the most important words of her life. As soon as they were out of her mouth, her heart sank. She was terrified she’d made a mistake.

  No matter what Seamus said, Caine Elliot wouldn’t accept her bet. And she’d just thrown his mea culpa in his face. His offer had been generous before, and it was twice as generous now. Even so, if she accepted, she’d walk away with nothing once she paid off the bank and paid back her mother. That wasn’t quite true; she’d walk away with something—a whole lot of guilt that she’d lost Holiday House. But as slim as her chances were of winning a bet with Caine Elliot, she’d have a chance, and that was all she could hope for right now.

  She stared up at the man towering over her, thinking, Holy heck he’s gorgeous and really, really big and maybe just a little terrifying with that fierce expression on his face. Her gaze took in the way his muscles strained against the confines of his expensive black suit jacket. She huddled deeper beneath his heavy coat, inhaling his warm, spicy scent. He even smelled incredible, which was totally unfair.

  The man who was responsible for destroying her hopes and dreams should not look like every woman’s fantasy come to life—least of all hers. He should look like Mr. Potter from It’s a Wonderful Life or Ebenezer Scrooge. Yes, that’s exactly what he should look like.

  “Hello, Ms. Christmas. Are you in there?” He crouched in front of her.

  Forget the face, body, and his incredible smell—she could listen to his smooth-as-silk voice and killer accent all night.

  He clicked his fingers, pulling her from her enthralled daze. She blinked. “Did you just snap your fingers at me?” Her chattering teeth took away from the who-do-you-think-you-are attitude she’d been going for.

  And right then she forgot how good he looked and smelled and sounded or that he’d fixed her circuit breakers on Friday or that he’d given her the coat off his very broad back. He was a high-powered gazillionaire who didn’t care who he hurt, and he’d called her an idiot. An idiot!

  It didn’t matter that she kind of agreed with him. You didn’t say things like that to people.

  “It was either that or shake you. I’m waiting for your proposition, Ms. Christmas. And while you apparently don’t have anything pressing requiring your attention, I do.” He stood up, once again towering over her, an aloof expression on his face.

  Who did he think he…? As what he’d said and not how he said it penetrated her frozen brain, she goggled at him. “Did you say you’re waiting for my proposition?” She glanced at Seamus, who was nodding at her, making a hurry up gesture with his hands. Hands that were covered in her pink mittens.

  “Yes. And it’s the second time I’ve done so.” The high-powered CEO of Wicklow Developments held up his phone and gave the screen an impatient tap. “Time is running out, Ms. Christmas.”

  Oh no. She huddled deeper beneath his coat. She
didn’t do well under pressure. She was really good at coaching other people to deal with their phobias and fears but didn’t do a very good job when it came to her own. Except saving Holiday House wasn’t just about her, she reasoned, trying to take herself out of the equation. Saving Holiday House was like—he tapped his screen—like saving Scrooge.

  “There’s a tree at Holiday House,” she began, picturing him in his underwear. Okay, totally not helpful, she thought when she felt more hot and bothered than confident. She quickly redressed him in her mind.

  “That’s not really a surprise, is it? You are a Christmas store.”

  “Yes, but it’s a special tree. An angel—”

  He made a hurry this along gesture with his hand.

  “It’s an angel tree. People, mostly children, write their wishes on a paper angel and then customers pick one off the tree and fulfill the wish.”

  “Ticktock, Ms. Christmas.”

  “I’m talking about angels and children’s wishes and all you can say is ticktock?”

  “Would you prefer I simply said no? Because if you walked into my office at Wicklow Developments and were presenting a business proposal to me, I would have shown you to the door by now.”

  And it was at that exact moment that Evie knew, if she could get him to agree to the bet, she’d win, because Caine Elliot truly was Scrooge.

  “All you have to do to win the bet, Mr. Elliot, is fulfill three wishes from the angel tree before Christmas Eve. If you do, I will do as I promised and help you win over the hearts and minds of your many detractors here in Harmony Harbor.”

  “And if you win?”

  She smiled, and his eyes narrowed. “If I win, you don’t build your office tower in Harmony Harbor.”

  “All right, let’s see if I understand this.” He then repeated everything she had just said, almost verbatim. “Is that correct?”

  “Yes,” she said, feeling hopeful for the first time in a week.

  He smashed her hope with a single, blunt “No.”