“Come on Peake, let’s go build a snowman,” she said, offering her hand.
She and Peake spent the next fifteen minutes using the snow piled on the sides of the walkway to build the base.
Amber interrupted their work and informed Peake it was way past his bedtime.
He looked at Paisley and they both groaned in protest as they made their way to the parking lot.
Paisley found herself scanning the area for Clay. When she didn’t find him, her heart drooped like a pathetic Christmas bow.
“Looking for someone?” asked Amber as she struggled to get the stroller through the snow.
“No.” Paisley knew she answered too fast. She also knew Amber would pick up on her defensiveness, so she added, “I just thought he’d say goodbye. You know, for old times’ sake.”
“His dad called and needed help getting the cows in. They busted through a fence when they heard the cannon.”
“Oh. Well, I guess that’s that.” Paisley reached down and grabbed the front of the stroller to help lift it over the curb.
Amber pressed her lips together as she dug in, her high-heel boots, though totally stylin’, weren’t made for wrestling a stroller through the Montana snowpack. “Sawyer’s trying to set up a reunion of sorts. Wouldn’t that be a kick?”
“Yep.” Paisley concentrated on traffic. She purposely didn’t ask questions and Amber was too busy gripping the stroller so she didn’t slip to press the topic.
Between the two of them, they managed to wrangle their way to Amber and Sawyer’s SUV. Sawyer arrived a few minutes later as they strapped Journey into the car seat. Peake slept on his shoulder.
Once the kids were buckled in, Paisley dashed down the street to her car. It was too darn cold to stand around chatting without a fire barrel nearby.
Clay’s disappearance didn’t stop Paisley from thinking about his easy smile and sultry eyes. She could dismiss his first wave as his attempt to say hi to an old friend. The second smile, the one that practically melted the snow, was harder to write off. Instead of being embarrassed when their eyes met, he looked, well ... interested ... and flirty ... and like someone Paisley would have wanted to spend time with.
She scraped a film of ice off the windshield before getting in the car. Her disappointment that Clay hadn’t asked for her number surfaced as she put the key in the ignition. It’s for the best. She shrugged and turned the key. The heart can only be broken so many times.
Chapter 2
PAISLEY DIDN’T SEE CLAY AT all over the next couple of weeks. Not that she wanted to. However, if anyone had asked, she could honestly tell them he didn’t attend the Christmas Tree Parade and Craft Show the day after the tree lighting.
He was not at the Nutcracker matinee performance, nor did he attend Santa’s Story Time where The Big Guy read The Night Before Christmas and handed out candy canes.
It wasn’t like she scanned the crowd everywhere she went or watched for his dad’s pickup when she drove through town or anything.
She most definitely did not spend several nights contemplating the way her heart beat faster when he’d lifted his eyebrow and smiled at her.
That was the moment keeping her up at night. No matter how she tried to spin it, she’d felt something—a connection? A spark? Something whispered to her heart there was more to Clay than some guy breezing through town.
As time passed, Paisley resolved to ignore the something and get on with her life. Unfortunately, Clay proved harder to ignore than most guys in Snow Valley and she hadn’t laid eyes on him in days.
Of course, in a town as small as Snow Valley, a girl couldn’t help but learn a few details. “His triumphant return” as Paisley dubbed his unannounced arrival, had stirred up a hornets’ nest. Mostly because Sawyer had managed to get the band back together to jam in his living room a couple times over. Since she’d been a part of the band before, people assumed she would be again.
At the grocery store, Old Lady Bergen wanted details. Paisley smiled and said, “I haven’t been over there yet. Christmas is my busy time at work.”
Mrs. Bergen patted her arm. “That’s right, you have the Christmas Ball to worry about.”
And the gingerbread house competition, and the cookie decorating party, and the Polar Bear Plunge, thought Paisley. But, the Christmas Ball was the town’s favorite and brought in the most money for the hospital.
“Well, I’ve already bought my ticket and fancy dress—it’s green. Can you imagine a woman my age in a red dress?” Before Paisley could answer, Mrs. Bergen said, “You, on the other hand, would look lovely in red.”
“Thank you.” Paisley planned to borrow something from Amber so she would most likely be wearing black.
“I’m looking forward to the string quartet,” said Mrs. Bergen. She set both hands firmly on her shopping cart.
“Me, too.” Paisley smiled as Mrs. Bergen shuffled down the aisle.
At the gas station, Brent Osborn wanted to know if he could audition to be a backup singer for the Iron Stix. Paisley about died when he broke into a heartfelt, but off-key, rendition of Jingle Bell Rock.
“I think they’re pretty set, but I’ll let them know you asked,” she said as she hurried inside to pay for gas.
Paisley decided to steer clear of the whole scene. Sawyer had extended the invitation to join them, stating their desperate need for quality sound checks; but the situation was just too weird for Paisley. She’d outgrown the innocent young girl she used to be and didn’t feel the need to go back to a place where she was remembered or treated like a child. For the Iron Stix, high school was the glory days and Paisley could see why they wanted to relive them. But she’d grown a lot since then, and consequently believed she’d outgrown the Iron Stix.
It wasn’t hard to find excuses to give Sawyer. The Christmas Tree Parade wasn’t the only fundraising event this holiday season and as the hospital’s contribution coordinator, she had more than enough work to keep her far away from Sawyer’s house, the band, and one bass player in particular.
Prepping the elementary school for the annual cookie decorating and gingerbread house decorating contest took up Paisley’s whole morning.
The new Jr. Pastor in town helped the janitor set up the lunch tables and she lined each one with white plastic table cloths.
The tables sported a variety of red, green, white, blue, and even purple sprinkles. Pine cone and Christmas ribbon center pieces, made by Mrs. Snow’s 6th grade class, held signs designating the age groups for each area. The kids liked to see their friends while they were on Christmas break and worked better when sitting with their classmates. The school left up their construction paper decorations and Paisley added streamers and plugged in the Christmas tree.
Entries for the gingerbread house contest poured in. Mrs. Leland said signups were going well and Paisley was glad to see there were more houses this year than ever before. She hurried to the teachers’ workroom and copied fifteen more entrance forms just in case.
Waiting for the dinosaur copy machine to warm up left her just enough time to distribute cookies. Putting them out too early would make them dry, brittle, and not at all suitable for decorating. She was almost done when someone snatched a large star from her pile.
“Hey!”
“Hey, yourself,” said Clay. He took a big bite of the star-shaped cookie.
Paisley swallowed.
Dang.
If Clay in snow clothes looked good, Clay in a turtleneck and jeans looked even better. Paisley took advantage of her front row seat to Clay’s broad shoulders and trim waist. His shaggy hair, now free from the stocking cap, hung across his brow and curled around his ears.
Clay’s eyebrows went up. “These are your cookies.” He looked around at the stacks and stacks of sugar cookies on the tables. “Did you make all these?”
Paisley was still caught up in admiring Clay’s curls. Life was so unfair. How come a guy got rich ... and thick ... and finger running – wait, what did he say? Cookie
s, something about cookies.
“Uh-huh.” She dropped her eyes and hurried to add several bell cookies to the table before moving on to the next section. If she had a job to focus on, then maybe she’d be able to talk like a normal person and not like a sixteen-year-old year old meeting her heartthrob.
Clay stayed with her. “I remember these. They taste like home.”
Paisley put her hand on her hip. “Well, if that wasn’t the best compliment ever. Home is the closest place to a person’s heart you could get.”
“You think?” Clay asked.
Paisley nodded. “I should know; Snow Valley is as much a part of me as my family.”
Clay tried to sneak a reindeer cookie, but Paisley kept the container just out of his reach and laughed at his overly dramatic disappointment. He was such a performer. Paisley considered him for a moment as he took in the decorations and set up for the cookie party. There was more to his transformation than a change of clothes. The heaviness Clay had carried for years was gone.
Clay caught her contemplating him. “What?” he asked.
“You just seem so different.”
“I’m different?” he asked, pointing to his chest. “You’re the one who’s different.”
Paisley loved his baiting look and knew he was just having fun with her.
“Please,” she scoffed. “I haven’t had an extreme makeover.”
Clay grinned. “Are you sure? I don’t remember you being this tall.”
“Ha. Ha. Ha.” The old Clay was moody and mysterious, but this Clay was playful and flirty, easy to talk to and easy on the eyes. The old Clay may have looked dangerous, but he was safe because he was distant. The new Clay was dangerous in ways Paisley wasn’t ready to explore.
Clay dropped his teasing tone. “There’s one thing that hasn’t changed, though,” he said.
Paisley paused. “And what’s that?”
“You’re still beautiful.”
Paisley’s heart stuttered. She cleared her throat. Trying to keep things easy between them, she laughed. “Pa-lease. I’ve seen the pictures. Fourteen-year-old me desperately needed a makeover.”
“No way. Fourteen-year-old you was a showstopper.”
Paisley tucked her hair behind her ear, hoping he couldn’t hear the way her heart hammered in her chest.
Sure, in the sixth grade Todd Snow told her she was pretty, and there were a couple other compliments along the way, but she’d never thought of herself as a “showstopper.” She eyed Clay. His expression was open and honest, which unnerved her all the more to know he’d been looking and she was oblivious. “It must have been my big hair,” she muttered. Changing the subject, she asked, “Are you here to decorate some cookies?”
Clay shook his head. “My dad volunteered to chaperone a table. He isn’t feeling well today, so he sent me instead.”
“Oh.” Clay was going to be here all night. Paisley had fun talking to him and would enjoy a whole lot more time with just him, but she’d have to keep her distance or—or what? She bit her lip.
Clay must have caught on to her distress because he joked, “What? Do I have cookie crumbs on my face?” He brushed his stubble. She wondered how he managed to keep his beard short enough to look rugged and yet long enough she didn’t think it would prickle if she brushed her fingertips over it. Not that she would ever do that, she was just noticing...
“I’m sorry about your dad, is it serious?”
“Naw, he’s just feeling his age.”
Paisley reached the end of the plates and set her almost empty cookie box on the table.
“There was something else I wanted to ask and I’ve been told you’re the one to talk to.” Clay tapped on a chair as he paused for a moment. “I wondered what the chances were of the Iron Stix playing at the Christmas Ball.”
Paisley burst out laughing. Clay jerked like she’d slapped him and her jaw snapped shut. “I’m sorry, you’re serious?”
“Yeah. I just think it would be great for the guys if they got a chance to show this town what they’re capable of.”
Paisley shook her head. “That’s all fine and good, but the Christmas Ball is not the place.” Paisley picked up the red frosting and retraced her steps around the room, leaving dollops of color in every third bowl.
The Iron Stix were a big hair band. They screamed into the mics and had wicked guitar solos, but they were not, nor would they ever be, the band to bring this town together on Christmas night. The whole idea was ridiculous. Who ever heard of a punked-out Christmas dance? Paisley shivered. Sure, she enjoyed their music, but plenty of people in town would walk out the moment Sawyer counted out the beat and smacked his drum sticks above his head. She, and the hospital, couldn’t afford to have people walk out.
Clay snatched up the green frosting and followed behind her, copying her technique.
“Look, we’re good—way better than before. Amber’s voice – I mean, it’s amazing.”
“No.”
Clay continued as if she hadn’t spoken, “Jeb was a little rusty, but it’s all come back and then some.”
“I don’t think so.”
“And Bill, it’s like he never stopped playing.”
“Not going to happen.”
Clay stopped walking. “When did you become a stick in the mud?”
They’d circled the room and the only thing left to do for the tables was distribute the white frosting. She took Clay’s tub of green and scooped up the white.
“I’m not trying to be a stick in the mud.” She lifted her chin. “The Christmas Ball is the one and only black tie event in this town. There’s a long-standing tradition of elegance and sophistication and there is no way I’m going to be the one to let that slide.”
“But –”
This guy could not take a hint!
“No buts. The Iron Stix aren’t going to play at the Christmas Ball. You’ll just have to find some other venue.”
Clay opened his mouth like he was going to argue, but Paisley waved her frosting spoon to cut him off. She didn’t have time for this, not tonight. “You’ll be with the twelve- to thirteen-year-old kids. Try to keep them under control; they like to pile on the frosting. Also, that vanilla frosting needs to be in those bowls before the doors open in ...” she checked the time on her phone, “... three minutes. I have to check on the gingerbread house contest. Good luck and thanks for your help today,” she said in a friendly and professional tone. “Oh, and watch out for the Adams. Their boys can be rambunctious.”
She hurried away, but thought she heard Clay mutter, “Stick in the mud.”
Let him think what he will, she wasn’t going to ruin the Christmas Ball by letting her brother’s high school rock band, full of over-aged shred heads, take center stage.
After making sure the gingerbread houses had arrived and were lined up, Paisley brought the judges in. Mayor Carl, Pastor John, and Tom Terry, her boss, filed from the side door where she’d kept them hidden away until the contest participants were ushered out of the room. Judging was meant to be kept secret. She’d devised an intense grading system where each house was rated, on a scale of one-to-ten, in thirty-two different categories. Once they finished with the judging forms, Paisley would take them out to her parents’ house and drop them in the incinerator.
Mayor Carl grumbled, “This is the worst part of my job.”
“It’s not all that bad,” replied Paisley trying to keep the mood up.
“Not that bad? This contest nearly cost me the election last year.” He mopped his face with a red bandana. “Mrs. Grey was ready to run me out of town.”
“Well, who could have seen that coming?” Paisley shrugged. “The woman knits hats for premature babies; you’d think she’d be more on the mellow side.”
“I hear it’s the quiet ones you have to worry about,” joked Tom.
Pastor John laughed and threw Paisley a knowing look. He never held the outhouse incident against her, but he remembered. Paisley couldn’t help but
smile when she thought of her thirteen-year-old mischievousness and Pastor John’s ensuing kindness.
The reluctant judges began their dreaded task, debating the merits of using pre-made candies creatively vs. making them from scratch. Paisley’s thoughts drifted to Clay. She wondered how he was doing with the kids and couldn’t help nudging the men to hurry along.
When Paisley finished announcing the winners and handed out participation ribbons, she went back to the cafeteria. The room was packed with children decorating Christmas cookies. They paid a small fee for each decorated cookie, got to keep the cookies, and the money was donated to the hospital. She remembered coming with Sawyer to decorate cookies as kids. Many tourist families also attended. Paisley was proud of the extra advertising she’d arranged.
Her eyes immediately went to Clay’s table, but he wasn’t there. Paisley pressed her lips. The Adams twins had arrived. Thankfully, they behaved themselves and seemed more worried about their donkey cookies than about making a mess. She figured she had a few minutes before they lost interest and began looking for alternate ways to entertain themselves. Clay needed to be at his post or there could be trouble. Instead, he leaned against the back wall talking to Tom. She waved at Sawyer and Peake over at the Pre-K table on her way to redirect Clay.
“Attendance has dropped over the last few years.” Tom turned to her. “What do you think?”
Paisley held her smile in place despite the way her gut sank to the floor. She had a feeling she already knew the topic of conversation. “About what?” she asked.
“Clay thinks we’ll get a better turnout at the ball if we shake things up a bit in the music department.”
Paisley narrowed her eyes. Oh, he does? “He mentioned something similar to me.”
“Perhaps it is time to change things,” said Tom as he rubbed his cheek. The distant look in his eyes made Paisley believe he contemplated more than just the Christmas Ball. For his sake, she hoped he was ready to start dating again; his divorce had been final for almost two years. For the ball’s sake, she would die before she let the Iron Stix chase away her highest contributors.
Lucy McConnell's Snow Valley Box Set Page 2