“It’s okay,” she said, her heart still recovering from his sudden show of gratitude. “I know this is important to you.”
“I really didn’t know if you’d say yes.”
“Well, I could use the help with the house. And I like your dad. And your mom.”
A moment hung in the air where she should have said, “And you.” They’d declared themselves friends. But she didn’t say it, and the space was filled with nothing. Awkward nothing.
“I’ll get you the notes I made.” He left her in the cold room while he returned to the house.
Riley folded her arms against the chill and walked over to the desk, grabbing the stack of photos again. She sat on the cot and shuffled through the pics. She shook her head.
This was not in the plan, Madigan.
Mark returned and set some drawings and a pad of graph paper on the desk. “I’ve got the boards. I can get the figures cut tomorrow if we draw them out tonight. And I can paint them black, or both of us can. That would speed things along. You probably have family stuff planned for the holidays, huh?”
She huffed a laugh, his nervous energy contagious. “No. I don’t have any plans for Thanksgiving or Christmas. That should help.”
He sat down next to her on the cot. “No family stuff?”
She shook her head, staring blindly at the top photo.
“Can I ask why?”
She shrugged. “My parents are traveling over Thanksgiving. They’ll be in California for Christmas, but I need to . . . not be in California.” She gave him a smile. “It’s just me.”
He shook his head, as if he couldn’t understand.
Her smile remained, though sharing even that much with him felt like it cost her something. “I’m okay with it. Really. I prefer quiet holidays.”
“You better not let word get out that you’re on your own. The town will adopt you and make you their project.”
“Then I’ll trust you not to say anything.”
He looked at her sideways. “I don’t know. I’m the current project. Might take the spotlight off me.”
She suppressed a laugh, and he smiled.
After a few moments, he graciously changed the subject. “I meant it when I said you paint like my mom. Not exactly like her, of course. But I’m not wrong.”
She nodded at the photos. Most artists would cringe hearing someone tell them they painted like someone else, but from Mark it was a high compliment. “Thank you,” she said. And she meant it.
She’d take this challenge. She’d keep it together, keep it strictly business, get the house fixed up, and be done. All the while working closely on a Christmas project with Mark Rivers, who’d told her she belonged . . .
He handed her his drawings. “We can refine these on the graph paper for better scale.”
She sorted through the rough images he’d penciled out. “They’re not bad.”
“They’re no Riley Madigans.”
“You can stop with the flattery, I already took the job.”
He grinned, and she remembered the touch of his lips high on her cheek. The knot in her chest flipped.
That’s trouble.
They went back into the dining room and spent the next couple of hours sketching out figures on graph paper, keeping to Mark’s dimensions. Joseph stood. Mary knelt. The baby nestled in a manger. A shepherd knelt, too, cradling a lamb. Another lamb stood on its own. Then there was the star.
“What about the stable?” She picked up a photo and squinted at the simple frame arching over the figures.
“I’m making that.” He pulled a sketch from the pile. “It won’t be exactly the same, but I’m thinking I can make it sturdier than the last one.” He handed her the drawing of a simple wood frame faced with natural branches, the star at its peak.
She nodded. “When did you work construction?”
He shrugged. “Out here, summer jobs are either orchard work, construction, or working at the IGA. I was always working the orchard, but my dad made sure we got some other experience under our belts. He believed if we were busy working, we’d stay out of trouble.”
“Was he right?”
“For the most part. He still thinks that way, unfortunately.”
She smiled. “When did you decide to become a firefighter?”
His expression dimmed, and he slid the plans for the stable from her fingers. He stared at the page for a few seconds. Finally, he spoke. “I don’t remember not wanting to be a firefighter. I saw a fire truck in a parade when I was a kid, and I knew that’s where I needed to be.” He set the page down. Then he lifted his head. “I’ll go get the boards and meet you back in the laundry room. It would be better if we were out there in case my dad comes home. Like I said, if we can get the silhouettes drawn tonight, then I can cut them out whenever he’s not around.”
“Do you need help?”
“I got it.”
His sudden departure left an emptiness in the room. Obviously, the demons Mark fought didn’t end with the scars on his face. How would it be to excel at something you loved, only to have it so violently snatched away?
Things needed to lighten up.
On the way out to the laundry room, Riley checked her phone. At some point, Dalton had called and left a message.
“A few of us are heading over to Seattle next weekend before the passes get dicey again. Hoping to celebrate winning regionals. Also hoping you’d like to come along. Think about it.”
A couple of days in the city sounded great right now. Cool restaurants, great shopping, attending the symphony or maybe hitting a club. Wearing real shoes. Or maybe not, because of the rain. Did people wear Jimmy Choos in the rain? But crowds and city lights, food and the music of the streets—
With Dalton.
She laughed at herself. Dalton probably shouldn’t have been an afterthought on that list.
She texted back. Got your message. Just took on a commissioned art piece with a deadline. Gotta pay the bills. Maybe next time?
He answered immediately. Your loss. Definitely next time.
Mark arrived, shouldering a stack of heavy-looking boards like they were nothing. He knelt down and dropped them with a smack. “This should cover the smaller figures.”
“Do you go to Seattle often?” she asked as she put her phone away.
“Used to.” He slid the pile more toward the center of the room. “It’s been a while.”
“Is it as rainy as they say?”
He paused. “You haven’t been to Seattle yet?”
She shook her head. “You sound like your dad. Dalton just asked me to go next weekend. I told him I had a commission to work on.”
“You didn’t tell him what it was, did you?”
“No. It’s a secret, right?”
He nodded. “Small town. Word gets around.” He stood and walked over to the desk, grabbing the stack of sketches. He dropped four of them down on the wood: Mary, the baby, the star, and the lamb.
“It rains a lot in Seattle,” he said. “Mostly during the winter. But there’s a lot to do, no matter the weather. If you go, take a rain jacket.”
She considered that and knelt down next to the stack of wood, picking up a pencil. She’d start with the star. Get down the simple symmetrical piece and move on to the more organic figures. “What are the dimensions for this one again?”
He glanced at the graphed sketch and grabbed the yardstick. “Two and a half by three feet.” He knelt across from her and measured it out while she made the marks on the board.
“Are you and Dalton a thing?” he asked quietly.
“No,” she answered. “Hold that this way.”
He pressed the ruler at the angle she needed. She leaned forward and ran the pencil along the hard edge. It moved slightly, and she looked up at him. Grilled steaks and aftershave.<
br />
“Sorry,” he said.
She adjusted the ruler and pressed it down herself, her hand between both of his, and finished the line. Her bangs had fallen in her face, and she pushed them back. “Here.” She pointed out the next line and he positioned the ruler again.
“Can I say something?” he asked.
“You can say anything, just keep that edge still.” She pointed to the next line, ignoring how much he smelled like something she wanted to eat.
He pressed the ruler down. “Be careful with Dalton.”
She looked up at him, but he remained focused on the ruler.
“I’m always careful.”
She expected him to follow up with a few accusations aimed at Dalton. She was ready to shut him down and make it clear that she was a big girl, and could handle herself, yada yada, but he stayed silent. Where had his warning stemmed from? She’d gotten the same feeling from Yvette. Of course, asking Mark his reasons was out of the question. It went against her whole “I’ll judge for myself” platform. Then again, the last time she’d judged for herself she’d been flat-on-her-face wrong.
She glanced at him again and caught him smiling. “What?”
“When your head gets spinning like that, you purse your lips and get a dimple. Right there.” He reached and nearly poked her in the spot next to her mouth.
She brushed his hand away. “I do not. And you don’t make my head spin.”
“I didn’t say I did.”
She paused and felt heat creep up her neck. “What did you say?”
“I said when you start thinking about things really hard you get that look. You said I make your head spin.”
“No, I said you didn’t make my head spin.”
“You sure about that?” he asked. “Because that dimple is back.” He pointed again, and she swatted his hand away.
“Enough with the dimples.” She picked up the yardstick and repositioned it. “If you’re making my head spin, it’s because you’re exasperating.”
“Is that right?” he said, clearly not believing her honest evaluation.
She sat back on her heels and met his dark eyes straight on, a rare thing with him. Humor played in their depths like Puck hiding behind dark-stained glass. She liked it, and she didn’t want it to go away.
She swallowed. She had to keep this professional. “Get me the dimensions on that lamb or nobody’s getting anything for Christmas.”
He attempted to hide his amusement but said nothing, which left her conflicted because wasn’t him coming out of his shell a good thing? But this . . . this . . . magnetism . . . She hadn’t counted on that. And dang if he wasn’t hitting too close to home.
She finished the star and was able to fit the standing lamb on the other end of the same board.
She glanced at him to see what he thought of the outline.
He nodded. “I can see it.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah.”
She smiled. Stop smiling so much, or he’s likely to kiss you again. She stopped.
She was able to get most of Mary on the next board when Mark’s phone buzzed. He looked at the text. “My dad’s on his way home. You keep going, and I’ll get the rest of this stuff under the cot.”
In a matter of minutes, she had Mary’s outline done, and the room looked as it had before. Mark found a blanket and spread it over the cot so the edge reached the floor, hiding their work.
He held the door for her. “My dad doesn’t get off the property much. I’ll need to come up with some excuses for him to leave so I can use the saws without him getting curious.”
“Why don’t you use the shop equipment at the high school?” Riley asked. “Tom Staley helped us out with the play props. I bet he’d let you use whatever you needed.”
“I don’t know if that’s such a great idea,” he said.
“Because it’s a surprise? I’m sure we could trust Tom. Especially if he knew it was for your dad. You said the nativity was a special thing for the whole town. He’d respect that, wouldn’t he?”
Mark shrugged, shifting his weight. “Probably.”
“And I’m guessing your dad wouldn’t ask too many questions if he thought you were meeting friends. He got out of your way tonight, right?”
“Are you implying that I don’t get out much?”
“Do you?”
“No.”
She put her hands on her hips. “And does he worry about that?”
He paused. “You’re nosy.”
She lifted her brow and counted on her fingers. “It’s away from the house. We can work after school when everyone is gone. I can sketch the rest of the figures right there before you cut them out. And it will give your dad the impression that you’re out making friends or whatever. Tell him you’re helping me with the reno. So, bonus getting him off your back for the day.” She waited for him to agree.
He rubbed his neck. “Nobody else can know.”
“We can’t exactly put the school on lockdown.”
Finally, he shrugged. “I guess it would be easier than trying to hide stuff anytime he comes around.”
“Call me if you want to try.”
He nodded.
That was enough for her.
Cal returned as she was putting on her coat. “Hey,” he said. “You don’t have to run off on my account.”
Riley smiled, seeing the same gleam in his eyes that Mark had showed her once or twice. “I have school tomorrow.”
“Well, I hope you two had fun.” He looked curiously at Mark. “You staying out of trouble?”
“Planning my escape,” Mark deadpanned.
“Ah. Well, let me know how it turns out.” He turned to Riley. “His bedroom window sticks, so it might be best to cut loose through the bathroom. Beware the climbing rose bush.”
“Got it,” she said. “Bathroom window. Avoid the roses.”
“There’s a decent ladder in the garage,” Cal said. “I’ll be sure to turn a blind eye.”
Riley stifled a giggle.
“Are you two done?” Mark asked.
Cal hung up his coat and hat and threw Mark his jacket.
“What’s this for?” Mark asked.
“Aren’t you going to walk her to her car?” He turned toward the kitchen without waiting for an answer, mumbling, “He knows this stuff. That fire didn’t get to his brain—”
“I can hear you,” Mark said, shrugging into his coat.
“—didn’t get to his hearing, either.”
Riley bit her lip, hiding her grin.
Mark grabbed the door and pulled it open. “After you.”
She stepped outside. The Christmas lights on the porch blinked blue and white. Mark shut the front door behind them.
“I can see why you’re doing this for him,” she said.
“If you’re being sarcastic, I don’t blame you.”
She laughed. “I’m not. I think he’ll love it.”
“Christmas will be a lot brighter this year, for sure. And we’ll take you to the tree-lighting in Leavenworth, show you how we do things here in the valley.”
He’d said it offhandedly, she knew, and she hesitated to respond as they walked down the stone path. “I’m not sure I could handle it. What if it doesn’t measure up to the hype?”
He laughed quietly. “Now I know you’re being sarcastic.”
“Yeah, well, maybe I am, maybe I’m not.”
“So, what is it? About Christmas, I mean.” They stopped at her car and he shoved his hands in his pockets, toeing a rock out of the lawn and onto the drive.
She shrugged, not wanting to pursue it, but not wanting to put him off.
“Is that the real reason you didn’t want this job?” he asked.
“I didn’t say I didn’t want the job.”
<
br /> “Yes, you did. Your first answer was no, remember?”
Her smiled faded, and she looked off into the trees. Her breath came out in puffs, and she shivered.
“You don’t have to tell me,” he said. “I’m just wondering if it will help me navigate this project better. It’s all Christmas—life-size.” He watched her expectantly.
“Okay,” she said, bracing herself. “Let’s say I learned at a very young age that Christmas is about wishes and hope. It’s about home, right? So I’d wish for a home.” She shrugged. “A real one—you know, one we weren’t tearing down or putting back together. One where I didn’t have to tell the friends I’d just made that we were leaving again. Don’t get me wrong, I know we had a lot. I saw a lot of the world. We had food, clothing, beds. When we were in the country, I’d spend Christmas with my grandma . . . Sometimes with my parents. Sometimes not. Most times they were busy.”
He winced.
“My grandma’s house was the closest thing to a permanent home I ever had.” She pulled her jacket closer, swallowing her emotions. “By the time my parents settled in California, I’d left for college. My mom started writing for travel blogs and magazines, so she was off again, all over the world. It was hit or miss. Then my dad invited me to come work for him.” She bit her lip. “But that didn’t work out. So here I am.”
His eyes narrowed in concern. “I’m sorry.”
She shrugged. “I just learned I was better off not hoping, you know? It was easier that way.”
She couldn’t tell if she saw pity or disapproval in his eyes.
“Hope is one of the big ones,” he said.
She frowned. “The big ones?”
“Hope. Faith. Love one another.”
“Ah,” she said. “Those big ones.”
He shrugged. “Christmas.” He leaned forward. “The Nativity.”
She nodded. “Yes, my point exactly. You asked why I hesitated about the project.”
He smiled at her sideways. “You know, I’m not going to judge anyone on the Christmas thing. For all I know, you’re an atheist.”
“I don’t know what I am.”
“Okay. I get that. But really? Hope?”
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