“I’m not joking,” he said.
She smiled and leaned against the table. She hadn’t meant to come across as abrasive. “Maybe. Sometime.”
“I have to earn it, huh?” He leaned next to her.
“Something like that.”
“How about I take you out tonight? Dinner?”
After what she’d just experienced with her students, she hesitated. “I have work to do.”
“You just finished work.”
“You’re a teacher. You know the work never ends.”
He nodded. “All the more reason to get out. C’mon, just dinner. A couple of hours and then you can get back to work. I promise. It’s a school night, so I’m contractually bound to get you home at a decent hour.”
She gave him a smile for that. Despite the kids’ insistence, she doubted marriage was even on Dalton’s radar. She’d planned to start painting the nativity figures, but she’d put in good long hours on them already. A small break wouldn’t hurt, no matter what anybody said. And a little space from a project was important, especially one so emotionally charged.
“All right,” she said. “Dinner.”
He smiled. “Great. I’ll pick you up at six thirty?”
“Can we make it five thirty?” Earlier was better, so she could get back and work into the evening.
“Five thirty it is. I’ll make the reservation.”
“Reservation? Where are you taking me?”
“Ah,” he said, backing away and giving her finger guns, “that’s a surprise.” He disappeared out the door.
She stood, scrunching up her lips. A break would be good. Last night was deeper than she’d expected. Dalton wouldn’t go deep. She’d bet on it. She would go to dinner with Dalton, and hope Wyatt’s mom was nowhere in sight.
Mark turned the radio up as he headed to Riley’s house with the nativity figures. He hadn’t listened to much music lately, and this was a song he hadn’t heard before. He tapped his left hand on the steering wheel. When had he stopped listening to music?
Right.
He turned down Riley’s street and parked in front of her house. Rain hit the roof of his truck and bounced off the walk. A few degrees colder and this would be the white stuff.
Watching her house now, he couldn’t help the hollow feeling in the pit of his stomach. The last couple nights with Riley had been great. Casual in some ways, but not in others. He’d never connected with a girl on this level before.
Maybe because you didn’t have anything on this level to connect with before, Super Chief.
He shook his head and got out of the truck.
When she opened the front door, he paused, staring. Her hair was wavy all over instead of straight, and tossed back like she’d just run her fingers through it. And whatever she’d done to her eyes . . . and her lips . . .
She looked great. Better than great.
She smirked. “You want to stand on my porch all night, or are you bringing those inside?”
He moved abruptly, stepping through the doorway, careful with the nativity boards. He’d wrapped them in a tarp before coming over so they wouldn’t get wet in the short distance between his truck and her porch.
“Sorry,” he said. “I just—” Wow, she smelled great, too. “I just wasn’t sure you wanted these dripping through your house.”
“Don’t worry about it.” She walked toward the bedrooms wearing a skirt and high-heeled boots. That was not what she’d been wearing at school that morning. She turned and put her hands on her hips. “You coming?”
“Yeah. Of course.” He rolled his eyes. Smooth as ever.
He followed her to the bedroom on the right, trying to keep his focus off her skirt and the way it hugged her curves. Caylin had curves, but she’d been all legs and shoulders. Riley was more—
She flipped on a light, and he blinked, his senses overwhelmed by the smells of an active art studio. He gathered himself and looked for a place to set the boards down.
“Put them over here against the closet.”
He followed her instructions, glancing around as he unwrapped the tarp. His eye landed on some canvases leaning next to a metal desk. He nodded toward them. “Are those yours?”
“Why would they be mine?”
He heard the play in her voice. “See, there’s that attitude I’ve missed since, oh, three minutes ago.” He finished with the tarp and stood to fold it up.
“Oh, please.”
He ignored her protest and went over to the canvases, lifting the top one with the care he knew was required. He studied it quietly. She’d painted a high cliff in orange and red, cut vertically with purple and blue shadows, a wedge of turquoise sky at the top. In the top right corner at about two o’clock stood a small, brilliant-white mountain goat. You almost missed it, but you couldn’t at the same time.
He glanced at Riley, put the canvas down, and picked up the next one. A portrait of a child, bundled up in bright, haphazard colors, pink-cheeked in the snow, following an adult, holding her hand, but looking back toward the artist.
He picked up another. A bird at the edge of a puddle in the street, fallen maple leaves on the ground. She’d shown the rain. In that bold, raw, painting-on-black style of hers, she’d somehow depicted rain.
“You’re not saying anything,” she said. “Should I be worried?”
He looked away. “I’m wondering why you’re not in a magazine.”
She made a tsk sound. “Come on.”
He looked over the painting a few more seconds, then set it down with the others. He went to the easel and saw pretty quickly that she’d been sketching faces for the nativity. A few of his photos were clipped to the corners. “I’m dead serious, Riley.” He gave her his full attention. “Why aren’t you in a gallery somewhere?”
She shook her head, her cheeks flushed. “I’ve only been serious about it for a little while. I mean, I’ve always studied, but I was studying other things, too.” She picked up a charcoal pencil from the easel tray and turned it in her fingers. “It took me a while to figure out what I really wanted to do. Painting rose to the top.”
He watched her put the pencil back. “It shows.”
She smiled at him. “Thanks.” She looked around, then motioned for him to follow her out.
When they returned to the front room, he hesitated to leave. “I think my mom would’ve liked you.”
She smiled, clearly touched by the compliment. “I wish I could have met her. To be able to talk to her about the industry, ask her questions . . .” She shrugged.
He nodded, feeling that ever-present loss more keenly than before. “She would’ve gotten a kick out of someone who actually moved to this little valley because of her interview in American Artist Magazine.”
“They don’t even make that magazine anymore,” she said. “It went out of business a few years ago. Everything’s online now.”
“If you ever want a copy of that particular issue, we have about three dozen of them.”
She laughed. “Really?”
“Yeah, my dad went a little nuts.”
“That’s awesome.”
“Yeah, it is, I guess.” He noticed the trio of paintings above her fireplace. “Those are yours, too?”
“Yep. Those are my favorite.”
He stepped closer. Three different houses. Not as unique as the paintings in the art room, but still vibrant.
“They’re three of the houses I lived in, growing up. Where I have the best memories.”
“The yellow house in the middle looks like it could belong here in Miracle Creek.”
“That’s my favorite. It was my grandma’s house in Bozeman. I didn’t actually live there, though it feels like I lived there more than anywhere else.”
She moved away from the paintings, his cue to change the subject.
“Does your mom still flip houses?” he asked.
“No. When she’s not traveling, she focuses on the home she and my dad have now.”
“How does that feel, after all those years?” He watched her carefully.
“You mean, how does it feel that they settled down to a real home after I grew up and left?”
He heard the hint of bitterness in her voice, but she smiled. Then her eye twitched, and he laughed.
She chuckled. “The irony isn’t lost on me, believe me.” She sighed. “My dad’s a very charismatic person. One of those people who lights up a room and everyone in it but doesn’t hold still for long. I think he’s finally seeing how happy it makes my mom to be settled.” She grew quiet again, studying the paintings. “Maybe.”
“Sometimes it’s hard thinking of our parents as just people.”
“Yeah,” she said. “And sometimes they make it too easy.”
“Oh, so you’ve met my father.”
She grinned, her eyes glassy.
He fought the urge to gather her in his arms. Instead, he touched her elbow. “I better get going.”
She glanced at the clock. “Yeah. Thanks for bringing those. I’ll start on them tonight.”
“Are you going to be wearing that?” he asked, only half kidding.
She laughed and smoothed her skirt, though he couldn’t see a wrinkle. “No. I’m going out to dinner.”
“Oh? The Grill-n-Go again?” He teased, but he didn’t feel like laughing.
She narrowed her eyes at him. “Ha ha.”
“So . . . who are you going out with?” he asked, immediately wanting to take back the question.
“Dalton.”
“Who?” he asked, feigning indifference as jealousy shot through his chest, shoulder to shoulder.
“Dalton Gainer.”
He nodded. “Oh, that Dalton.” He stood there like an idiot.
“Do you know many Daltons?”
“Sure. Loads.” But only one Dalton had compared Riley to a record on a scoreboard.
She cocked her head. Then she smiled. Man, he wished she wouldn’t smile like that.
“Well,” he said. “Good night.” He turned to the door.
“Mark?” she asked, and he winced.
He turned again, finding her standing there, wide-eyed and trusting. “What?”
“I know how you feel about him. Dalton, I mean.”
“I don’t want to date him, if that’s what you’re implying.”
She shook her head. “You know that’s not what I mean. I can handle myself, you know?”
He ran a hand over his face. “I’m sure you can. You look great, by the way.”
Her smile reappeared on those rosy lips. “Oh yeah?” she asked, one eyebrow raised.
And that was when the thought of Riley Madigan going out with Dalton Gainer made him want to throw up.
Her smile faltered at his expression. “What?”
“I was just—” He hesitated. “Do you talk to Dalton about the stuff we talk about?”
After a moment, she shook her head. “No.”
He let out a hidden sigh of relief.
“To tell you the truth,” she said, looking back at him, “I can hardly get a word in edgewise.” Humor returned to her eyes. “I’m not friends with him the way I am with you.”
There it was. Again. Friends. He nodded. “Good night, Riley.”
“Good night, Mark.”
He grabbed the door and got out of there. The last thing he needed to see was Dalton’s car pulling up the street. Because if he did, he might do something really stupid.
They passed another sign, and Riley’s nerves tightened a fraction. She hoped Dalton wasn’t taking her where she suspected he was taking her. There were a dozen restaurants along this highway, but possibilities were running thin.
“What do you have planned?” she asked. “You’re smiling like a cat with a mouse.”
He chuckled. “I told you, it’s a surprise. We’re almost there. I couldn’t believe it when I heard you hadn’t been there yet.”
“Been where? Heard from whom?”
“I overheard a little birdie in the staff room. Apparently, I’m not the only one who wants to get you out of our little town.”
The only other staff member she knew who might want to take her anywhere was Yvette. And the only place Yvette had mentioned wanting to take her was Leavenworth, the quaint little Bavarian town hailed as Central Washington’s premier tourist and honeymoon destination.
And the Christmas capitol of the entire Northwest.
Maybe Riley should have been talking to Dalton the way she’d been talking to Mark.
They passed Peshastin on the right, her last hope for any dining possibilities this side of the Cascade Mountains other than Leavenworth or Steven’s Pass ski resort.
“Are we going skiing? I would have worn something warmer.”
Dalton laughed again. “No skiing. And you look amazing. I told you that, right?”
“You did.” She wrung her hands together. “You know, Dalton, I have this sort-of phobia—”
“Of skiing? Because trust me, that’s not on the menu.”
“No, not skiing. It’s just—”
“I hope it’s not lederhosen.” He laughed, and she smiled weakly. He leaned toward her. “I promise you’ll be very safe. Anyhow, close your eyes.”
“What?”
“Close your eyes. Part of the surprise package.”
“I’m not sure I—”
“I’ve practically given it away so just give me this. No peeking.”
She closed her eyes. “You’re not going to strap on a pair of lederhosen, are you?”
“You’re cracking me up, Mads. Trust me. It’s a good thing the rain cleared up. I want you to get the whole effect.”
Oh, she was getting the whole something. Mads? She couldn’t help thinking she preferred it when Dalton had other people around to talk to.
Riley concentrated on her breathing. She had a few more weeks until the big tree-lighting everyone talked about. She wasn’t scared of Christmas. Just the emotions it induced. Dalton didn’t know that, and he was obviously looking forward to introducing her to this town.
The car slowed, and after a couple of turns, Dalton cut the engine.
“Keep your eyes closed. I’ll be right there. Don’t move.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t,” she said. She waited, anticipating the click of her door as it was pulled open. She shivered at the hit of crisp air. Dalton took her hand and made sure she didn’t bump her head as she exited. True to her word, she kept her eyes shut.
“Okay, follow me. Just a few more steps, I promise I won’t let you fall.”
The air was filled with sound: music in the distance, the swoosh of slow cars driving past, the mottled hum of people in conversation as they walked, nearby and farther away. She peeked at her shoes to keep from having to cling to Dalton’s arm. About ten steps later, they stopped.
“Here’s a good spot. Perfect.” She felt Dalton move behind her, placing his hands on her arms. “Welcome to Leavenworth, Riley.”
She told herself this was a small thing, that surely she could look down a street. Something did smell delicious. Not one thing but a hundred delicious things hanging in the air.
“How this works is,” he said gently, “you open your eyes.”
Slowly, she opened her eyes.
The world stirred into motion, like the beginning of a merry-go-round ride. They stood at the top of a long street. Two- and three-story Bavarian-style buildings that looked like something out of a storybook graced both sides, all lit up with Christmas lights, and exquisite tole-painted murals peeked from above doors, beneath window boxes, and between dark-hewn beams. People bundled together wearing red
scarves and floppy knit hats. Jingle bells—no kidding, jingle bells—rang out in all directions.
“Holy crap,” she muttered.
“I’m sorry, what?” Dalton asked, leaning closer.
“Um, it’s astonishing.”
“Isn’t it?” he said, obviously pleased.
She took a deep breath and blew it out as he took her hand and led her to the far side of the street. Wreaths and swags and twig reindeer and old-world Santas met them at every step, yet none of it was gaudy or overdone or even overcommercialized. Somehow, Leavenworth had managed to capture the celebration of Christmas . . . and any normal person would find it wonderful in the true sense of the word.
“Our reservation isn’t for another half-hour, so I thought we could walk first. Do you mind?” Dalton was suddenly looking at her like he’d actually consider her answer instead of talking over it.
The gears in her head clicked. “Let’s walk now. Work up an appetite.”
He smiled. “That’s what I like to hear.” He took her hand again and led her farther along the avenue. They crossed the street, and her focus lifted to a gigantic pine.
“That’s the Christmas tree,” he offered. “The big lighting is in a couple weeks.”
“It’s huge.”
“Beautiful, isn’t it? A whole day of festivities, and then they set off fireworks. Sounds fun, huh?”
“Mmm,” she replied, banishing the unbidden image of Mark passing out candy canes to everyone.
Trees grew along the edge of a small park, complete with a gazebo framed in white twinkle lights. The gazebo glowed from within and—she realized as they approached—sheltered an oompah band, the musicians wearing embroidered vests, lederhosen, and felt hats. To the side, waiting his turn, a man stood poised in front of an exceedingly long horn.
“An alpenhorn?” she asked Dalton, leaning into him over the sound of the band.
“I’m impressed. Listen.”
They waited a little longer, and then the man braced his feet on either side of the horn, which balanced on its own small stand on the ground. He took a deep breath, then blew into the horn, the melody traveling from his lips to the crowd with a rich, deep sound.
People clapped as the familiar strains of “O Little Town of Bethlehem” blended with the oompah band.
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