by Barbara Lohr
Ryan felt proud. Walking over, he took her coat.
“Such a gentleman,” Sarah murmured, slipping her red scarf into the sleeve. “Thank you.”
A bit disappointed that she still hadn’t noticed anything different, he went to check on the cheese crowns. “Maybe today I won’t burn these. Were there many complaints?”
“Oh, no. Not at all.”
Ryan suspected that she wouldn’t tell him even if people had missed the cheese crowns. “Today we’re doing molasses cookies. You know ––gingerbread men, Santas, Christmas trees and ornaments. That kind of thing.”
“I noticed how you prettied up the place,” Ryan said. She’d even put a bowl of holly on her desk.
“It’s Christmas, doggone it.” Sarah pushed up the sleeves of her red plaid shirt.
He swallowed a laugh. “You sound as if it’s a chore.”
Her lips twisted. “Isn’t it? Sometimes you just have to put your life on remote.”
“Sarah.” But what could he say? He understood where she was this season.
With a sniff, she turned away. “Sorry, I’m feeling grouchy. The boys will have a good Christmas if it kills me.”
“I’ll help in any way I can.”
“You’re very sweet to us, Ryan.” Her light touch on his arm ignited him. Then she turned. Bustling over to the one of oversize mixers, she banged a bowl into place and got to work.
Looking over the recipe, he could still feel the tingle of her touch. “Are you doubling or tripling in this recipe?”
“Tripling.” Her grin was back and his shoulders eased. Her pain was hard to bear when he couldn’t do anything about it.
“We need some music.” She snapped on the radio and Bing Crosby was singing “White Christmas.” “We’ll have a white Christmas all right,” she said.
“I like the snow.” Looking out the back of the high windows, Ryan watched the snow shimmer under the alley light. “It reminds me, well, of stuff.”
“Past Christmases?” A faint smile tilted her lips.
“Yeah. It’s not bad to remember, is it?” He sure hoped not.
She shook her head slowly. “Our past is an important part of us. And we’re making Christmas cookies. What could be better, right?”
“Right.” But it wasn’t going to be easy. Not for him. When the dough was made, the hard part started. The rolling pin Sarah was wielding? That sucker terrified him.
“Let’s get to work.” Grabbing a hunk of dough, Sarah sprinkled flour over the cutting board while Ryan’s stomach knotted. Then she handed him the rolling pin. “Here you go. I’ll frost the cheese crowns while you roll out the dough. Then choose your cookie cutters and have fun.”
Fun? The lump in his throat felt big as that mound of dough.
First he swatted it down. Then he started to roll. Sweat broke out on his forehead as he pressed the rolling pin across the dough. It would probably be bad to perspire on cookie dough. Sarah was humming along to the music but he wasn’t having a “holly jolly Christmas.” Not at all. He’d seen roadwork crews rolling out asphalt. Maybe that was the trick and he laid into it.
Meanwhile, he enjoyed watching Sarah frost the pastries. Her hands were so graceful, scooping up frosting and skimming the tops of the cheese crowns. How the heck did she do that?
“How’s that molasses dough coming, Ryan?” Sarah asked, a twinkle in her eye, like she knew he was having a heck of a time.
He looked down. The dough was flattened so thin, he could see the table.
“Oh, my.” Wiping the frosting from her hands, Sarah edged over, her lips twitching. “Um, I think we need a little more cookie than that, don’t you?”
“I guess.” Releasing the rolling pin, he ran his hands down his apron. They were throbbing from the pressure, not that he’d admit it.
“Let’s give this another go.” Gathering up the dough, Sarah worked some magic with her fingers. Suddenly he faced another mountainous mass. Ryan liked the lemon bars or brownies a lot better, where all you did was pour the batter into the pan.
“Don’t look so disappointed.” Reaching up, she pinched his chin gently between her fingers. “Everyone has to learn.”
She was so close that he could see the pulse throbbing at the base of her throat. Then she dropped her gaze and swallowed. “Guess we should get to work.”
“Right.” Gripping the rolling pin so hard that his hands hurt, he nodded. “Yep, Let's get on with it.” He attacked the mound of dough.
“Oh, Ryan,” she murmured. “Softer. You’re not trying to kill the cookie dough.”
“Okay, boss lady.” How could she be so patient with him? The one time his mother did try to make cookies the whole mess ended in the trash can and Mom took off for the bakery.
Now he was the bakery—or acting like it. He had to get this right so Sarah wasn’t embarrassed by his cookies.
“Here let me help.” Her arms went around him and Ryan froze. Suddenly they were rolling cookie dough together, her hands on his. He’d never felt anything so sexy in his life.
“Can you feel it?” she asked. “Just roll softly, softly.”
“Yep, I sure can,” he croaked out. He wouldn’t think about the warm breath on his neck. The vibration of her voice against his back. When the dough became a perfect circle, he figured it was a miracle.
But it wasn’t the cookie dough he wanted. No, he wanted to turn and take her in his arms. Kiss her sweet lips until they had to come up for air.
She was driving him crazy.
Jamie I told you I’d always watch out for Sarah. That’s all I’m trying to do.
But that was a lie. And he never could lie to his brother.
Sarah kept moving behind him, angling her head so she could see. “Just a little bit here and a little bit there.”
A lot could happen as a result of that little bit. When her body moved, every pore in his body leapt to life. Was he sweating bullets? Sure felt like it.
This could get embarrassing.
Then she released his hands and stepped back. Fresh air passed between them. “How’s that?” She blinked up at him in that innocent way she had.
“Fine. Just fine.” Irritation roughened his voice. He felt like diving into one of the snow banks. Maybe for her this was just another lesson.
She backed away. He took a breath.
“Well then.” Her eyes skittered from the ovens to the clock––anywhere but him. “Grease the baking sheet and choose your cookie cutters.’
“Sure. Right.”
“I’ll just get back...” Her arm hand waved and her mouth opened. But nothing came out. Maybe she wasn’t so calm after all.
“Back to work, boss lady.” There. That sounded authoritative. But he was putty–or cookie dough–in her hands.
So he started with the cookie cutters. Before she even finished her frosting work, he had three pans filled with gingerbread boys, reindeer and fat Santas.
Footsteps sounded on the back stairs just as he took the last pan from the oven. “Well don’t you two look busy.” Mrs. Wilkins stood there in a pretty pink sweater.
“Hi, Mom.” Walking over, Sarah kissed her mother’s cheek. She was like that. Dropping kisses as she went.
“We’re working on molasses cookies,” he said. The spicy smell filled the room.
“So I see.” She glanced over at the table littered with cookie cutters.
“I’m going to clean those,” he murmured.
Sarah’s mother tied on her apron. “How’s your Christmas season going, Ryan?”
“Just fine.” This was probably the best Christmas he’d ever had.
She smiled with the same wise eyes her daughter had inherited. “Thanks for taking my place back here.”
“No problem. I enjoy working in the bakery.”
“Your brother did too.” Picking up a piece of leftover cookie dough, Lila rolled it in her fingers. Then she formed an S with the dough. “Sarah, remember how we used to make our initials with the
leftovers?”
“Sure do.” A small smile on her lips, Sarah started playing with the leftover dough. Then she dropped it and turned. “Guess we should frost them now.”
Her mother left and Sarah filled two tubes with the white frosting. If the rolling pin struck fear into his heart, that was nothing compared to that plump tube in his hand. Of course for Sarah, it was child’s play. A little squirt here and another one there and Santa looked great, decorated with white.
He tried. Really he did. But he pressed too hard and blobs of frosting shot out, not the delicate lines and swirls on Sarah’s pieces.
He tried again. Ah, better.
But not for Sarah. “Hmm. Let’s count that as a trial piece.”
What? Okay, so the cookie looked a little blobby. It would taste the same. But he did it again.
“Better.” Sarah was peering over his shoulder. He couldn’t resist. Turning, he squirted her. First she looked shocked. Then she got mad.
“So that’s how you want to play it.” Frosting dripped from her forehead onto her cheek. Her tongue darted out. Grabbing another pastry tube, she took aim and hit him right between the eyes.
“Game on.” Chasing her around the butcher block table, he went nuts. This was like paint ball but even better. And Sarah gave as good as she got.
“Take that,” she’d yell.
“Oh, really? How about this?”
Frosting was flying and their faces were covered by the time by the bags were empty. Shoulder to shoulder, they collapsed against the counter, laughing until they were breathless. It had been so long since he’d heard Sarah laugh. Her mother peeked over the door and then faded away.
~.~
Messy with frosting, Ryan looked adorable. Adorable and hunky. Standing there babbling, Sarah felt like a fool. The man did have a way about him. How had she ever missed that? Gone was Jamie’s irritating little brother. That old image didn’t fit anymore.
He’d made her laugh. And it felt good.
Her heart beat in time to “Little Saint Nick,” blasting from the radio. Why had she wrapped her arms around him like that? Hadn’t once been enough the other day? Maybe that was the problem. She knew how Ryan’s broad shoulders tapering down to a slim waist felt and, mercy, she liked it. He’d been so darn cute working with that frosting, biting his lower lip in concentration.
Checking the clock he laid the bag down. “Okay, if I leave, boss lady?” He gave her one of his mischievous grins. “There’s a Harley waiting for me up at Branson’s.”
“Sure. No problem.”
Taking off the apron, he folded it into a neat square and then hesitated. “Maybe I’ll just take this home and wash it. It’s a mess.”
“You’ll do no such thing.” She took it from his hands. “I’ll just throw it in with mine.”
Funny but she liked the idea of their laundry twining together in the washer.
“Okay. Thanks, Sarah.” Dashing over to the sink, Ryan washed his hands. His apron in her hands she felt dazed, like the time Mildred Wentworth had accidentally side-swiped Sarah’s car in the parking lot at Clancy’s.
Turning, he dried his hands on a towel. “Don’t you notice anything different about me?”
Sarah’s head jerked and her eyes focused. “What?”
Slipping the towel on the toolbar, he grunted. “Never mind.” Shaking his head, he mumbled something she couldn’t understand. When he pulled on his huge sheepskin coat, she thought of what Chili had said about macho man. Maybe she was right. In that coat, Ryan should be out on the plains herding cattle. The image sent a warm rush through her.
“See you later,” he said, ducking out the door.
“Later.” The room seemed to deflate after he left.
Ryan must be exhausted, holding down his job at Branson’s and driving here to help out. How she wished she could pay him. But having another person on the payroll would be stretching it. Eager to get the cute cookies into the case, she arranged them on a fresh tray and carried it to the front. Her mother was ringing up a sale so she slipped behind her. The customers left. “More people from the library,” she said with a sassy smile.
“That’s good, Mom.” Going around to the front, Sarah checked the cookie display and smiled, remembering what fun she’d had with Ryan that morning.
“Are you going to bring the boys to hear me read Christmas stories this Saturday?”
“Sure. Of course.” How would she cover the shop? “I’ll work something out.”
Humming to herself, her mother spritzed the counter tops and wiped them down with paper towels. But her eyes were dreamy as she worked. Mom had always been a very practical, no nonsense woman. Sarah might have to tell her to ease up on the purple eye shadow but didn’t have the heart. She seemed so happy.
Going into the back, Sarah called Lindsay.
“What’s up?” Lindsay said when she picked up. “Haven’t seen you much lately.”
“Busy baking Christmas cookies. It’s kind of my last hurrah before people take off for the winter break.”
“Break? Tanner and I are staying right here.”
“Uh, huh.” Sarah pictured the two of them cuddled and cozy in Tanner’s home above the dunes with her two girls, Rebecca and Susan. Although she was happy for her friend, her heart twisted a bit. “I’m calling to ask a favor.”
“Name it,” Lindsay said with no hesitation.
“My mother is reading for the Children’s Hour at the library this Saturday. Could you watch the shop for maybe an hour or so?”
“No problem, even though this is like letting the fox into the chicken coop. All that pastry to sample while you’re gone.”
Lindsay was thin as a strand of dune grass. “I’m trusting you. A new librarian has taken Mildred Wentworth’s place. My mother’s acting weird so I have to check him out.”
She could hear her friend release her breath. “Your mother is dating?”
Dating. Mom! Reaching over, she picked a letter she’d baked from the leftover dough. Biting down, she munched for a moment.
“Sarah, are you still there?”
She swallowed. “Yes, sorry. Just thinking. I want to meet Stuart. You know, casually.”
“Stuart. Hmm. A very distinguished name.”
“You think so?” She took another bite.
“What are you eating?” Lindsay asked.
Sarah glanced down at the half eaten letter. “Oh, no. I’ve eaten Ryan.”
“What?” Lindsay howled.
Heat flooded Sarah’s face. “A cookie. I just ate the R.”
“See you Saturday.” Lindsay was chortling as Sarah hung up.
Chapter 8
“Can I help you?” Standing behind the desk of the Gull Harbor library, Stuart Martin was tall and slender with the kindest eyes Sarah had ever seen. No wonder her mother brought him cookies.
“Mom, come on!” Nathan and Justin pulled at her hands. They’d been restless since she got them home Friday.
“I've come to hear my mother read to the children today.”
A smile creased Stuart's face and made his blue eyes sparkle behind the Buddy Holly glasses. “Of course. I suspect you know where she is.” He waved toward the back. In his houndstooth jacket and blue shirt he cut quite the figure.
The hum of voices echoed from the children’s nook, and she wanted the boys to get a seat. “Thank you.” Sarah led Nathan and Justin past the stacks of books and computer stations into the children's area.
Holding a large book with Frosty on the cover, Mom gave her a nod. “We’ll wait until our newcomers get seated.” On the floor around Mom were sprawled at least a dozen children, their snow jackets piled on one of the low desks. The small room smelled like wet snowsuits. Mothers sat cramped in the small chairs, looking as if Christmas was catching up to them.
When Nathan suddenly stopped, Sarah nearly stumbled over him. Had he gotten stubborn again? When she served him a hot dog last night, he’d refused. But when her mother gave Nathan a stern
look, he sank down, unzipped this jacket and handed it to Sarah. Justin was already settled, legs crossed and eyes on the book.
The Children’s Story Hour would be her Saturday break. For at least thirty minutes she wasn’t responsible for her children’s well-being––a relief to any mother. Besides, she enjoyed listening to Frosty the Snowman. Sarah scanned the room. During the holidays parents seemed to develop dark circles under their eyes, deep yawns and, yes, sometimes colds. Quite a few sniffles and even some coughs went around the room. Mom began to read.
As her mother showed the children the pictures, the overhead lights made her blonde hair look like a halo. She looked so pretty in her fluffy pink sweater, green ornament earrings bobbing from her ears.
Surrendering to the soothing cadence of her mother's voice, Sarah closed her eyes. The hum of the heating system helped her doze off. In her dreams she wasn't thinking of her little boys. Oh no. She was under the mistletoe she’d hung up at work, looking into eyes as warm as brownies just taken from the oven. When Ryan bent for a kiss, her pulse kicked up. Almost there. She was almost there.
Applause ruptured her dream. Sarah blinked and straightened. Her cheek felt damp and she swiped at a trail of telltale drool. No one was looking at her, though. Joining the clapping, she felt happy for her mom, who was clutching the closed book to her chest and blushing. No one seemed to appreciate the presentation more than Stuart Martin, standing in the doorway.
Well, well. Whatever magic the library had worked, Sarah was grateful. Her mother worked so hard. The bakery and her boys seemed to be Mom’s whole life. Didn’t she deserve more? While the other mothers struggled with coats and mittens, Sarah worked her way through to her mother. The boys reached Mom first.
“You did great, Grandma.” Justin hugged his grandmother’s legs.
“Thank you, dear.” She patted his head.
“Yeah,” Nathan said. “We’re going to make a snowman just like Frosty this Christmas. Right, Justin?”
“You bet!” Justin’s eyes gleamed in anticipation.
“Who is going to help you create this snowy wonder?” Sarah teased, expecting them to name her.
