The Key to his Heart
for
CHRISTMAS
By Rebecca James
Copyright © 2019 Rebecca James
This book was originally published by JMS Books with the title Love Lost, Love Found. Upon regaining rights, the author changed the title, doubled the novella in length, and made other changes; however, the character names and general premise remain the same.
Special thanks, as always, to Jill Wexler’s special brand of beta reading. You’re the best, Jill.
Table of Contents
CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ONE
Dane
Rod tossed a package to me, and I put it on top of the stack of brightly colored presents in the day room of the firehouse.
“Well, that’s the last of them.” I surveyed the boxes of gifts, all carefully wrapped and sorted, each promising a happy Christmas for a child in Riverbend. “The next shift’s going to deliver them. I don’t know about you, but I’m beat.”
Rod nodded. “Me too. Snow’s really coming down out there. Drive carefully.”
“You too. See you Thursday.” I zipped up my coat and waved to my fellow firefighters in the kitchen eating chili, clocked out, and hurried through the heavily falling snow to where I’d parked my blue Dodge Ram at the back of Firehouse 6.
Switching off the radio and its steady queue of Christmas songs, I pulled out of the parking lot onto the main road and headed east, the distant peaks of the Rocky Mountains barely a blue smudge against all the white.
The seat warmer was definitely my favorite part of my new truck. Colorado in December was fucking cold. When the truck rounded the corner just past the exit for the interstate, my attention was drawn to a bundle of color beneath the overpass ahead. At first I thought something had fallen off someone’s car, but the closer the truck got to the object, I realized with concern it was a person sitting with their knees up, head down, and arms wrapped around their legs.
I didn’t think, just pulled over, turning on my flashers before getting out of the truck.
“Hey!” I called to the huddled figure. “You need some help?”
The head came up, startlingly blue eyes beneath a red knit cap focusing on me. The overpass offered little protection from the heavy snow fall and biting wind, and I could see the man shivering under several layers of clothing.
“I’m okay,” he said, cheeks and nose wind-reddened. He sat on a small duffel bag, which couldn’t afford him much protection from the cold concrete.
“You need a lift to the shelter on Tenth Street?”
The guy shook his head, hunkering farther down in his coat. “They’re full. I’ll be okay,” he called back.
I closed the truck door and walked over to the huddled figure. “You can’t stay here overnight; you’ll freeze to death. Here, I’ll give you some money for a hotel.” I reached into my back pocket for my wallet.
“I don’t take charity,” the man said. “And you shouldn’t keep your wallet in your back pocket. Believe me, I learned that the hard way.”
“You can pay me back—mail it to Firehouse 6 here in Riverbend whenever things start looking up for you.”
I counted through the bills. “Shit. I don’t have enough with me for a room.” I looked at the man, sized him up, and made a split decision.
“Come on home with me. I have plenty of room.”
“Are you crazy?” The man stared at me, eyes incredibly blue in his pale face. If he stayed out there much longer, his lips were going to match. “You can’t just invite a stranger home with you.”
“Yeah, well, that’s a chance I’m gonna have to take; I’m not leaving you out here in the cold. End of story. Now get up.” I reached out my hand to help him to his feet.
The man stared at me for what felt like ages before looking out at the squalling snow. Finally, he took my hand and I hauled him up.
He was older than I was by maybe ten years. We were about the same height, but he had a slighter build, although it was difficult to really tell in all those clothes. His chin and jaw had a couple of days of dark growth on them and he looked bone tired.
He stopped when we got to my truck. “You want to go through my pack? Make sure I don’t have a gun or something?” The man was shivering hard.
I shook my head. “Just get in. No killer in his right mind’s going to sit out in this weather waiting for someone to stop. Besides, you look too tired to attack me. You should be more worried about me, but I promise I’m harmless.”
The man sighed and put his duffel in the footwell before climbing into the passenger seat.
When I settled behind the wheel, I turned the heat on high.
“I’m Dane McCormick.”
“Sayer Mills.”
“You on your way somewhere, Sayer?”
Sayer pulled off his gloves and held his hands to the vents. He had long, graceful fingers that stirred something in me, like his eyes had the first time I saw them. “Thought I’d thumb to Boulder.”
“Family there?”
Sayer shook his head before closing his eyes in exhaustion. I let him alone and pretty soon he was snoring softly. When I turned off the highway ten minutes later, I slowed down considerably on the windy country road leading to my house. After a few bumps and potholes, Sayer roused and looked out the window.
“You’re driving me out to the middle of nowhere. Should I be worried?” he said after a moment.
I chuckled. “No. I just live out in East Bumblefuck.”
I pulled to a stop to let a buck cross the road.
“Wow,” Sayer said. “He’s beautiful.”
“One of the perks of living out here.” I smiled and continued down the road. The wind was picking up, blowing snow onto the windshield as fast as the wipers could wipe it off. I’d done the right thing picking the guy up; he would have frozen to death overnight.
Almost fifteen minutes later, we reached the cottage nestled in the woods just outside of Blind Lake State Park. As soon as I maneuvered the truck down the tree-lined drive, the stress of the day seemed to melt away. This was my oasis. I stopped the truck a few feet from the house and turned it off.
“Nice place.” Sayer climbed out of the truck and closed the door. “It’s peaceful out here.”
“Precisely why I love it.”
I started down the stone pathway leading to the back of the house, which was actually the front because my late wife and I had wanted the house to face the mountains. Icy snow slapped against my face. Sayer followed and stood, knapsack thrown over one shoulder as went through my keys.
“I take it you’re a bird lover. Lots of feeders,” he said.
“Yep. Nothing like lying in the hammock with all of nature gathered around you. And not just the birds. I’ve got squirrel and deer feeders too.”
The crisp scent of the plain balsam wreath I’d bought from the boy scouts—my only nod to the holiday—tickled my nose as I pushed open the door. Immediately, two big black webbed paws landed on my chest, pushing me back a step.
“Christ,” Sayer exclaimed from behind me. “What is that?”
I shoved the hundred-fifty pound dog off me.
“He’s a Leonberger—a type of mastiff. Down, boy!” I said sternly when Boone tried to jump on me again.
“It looks like a fucking bear!”
“His name’s Boone, and he’s a gentle giant. Really.”
Boone sat and stared
up at us, tongue lolling and jowls dripping.
“How long have you had him?” Sayer seemed to relax a little now that the dog wasn’t as tall as we were.
“Since he was a pup. He belonged to my wife. She rescued him from a storm drain.”
“Belonged?” Sayer’s eyes met mine.
I pocketed my keys and walked about the room, switching on lamps, their soft light lending a cozy feel to the oak wood floors and walls.
“She died a couple years ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Are you hungry?” I headed for the kitchen. “I usually cook a little something when I get home.”
“Famished,” Sayer shed his coat and hung it on the rack before following me. “Look, I really will pay you back for the hospitality. I’m just having a streak of bad luck right now. I know that sounds like a line, but it’s true.”
“It’s no problem. Honestly. It’s kind of nice to have some company.” I turned on the stove and rummaged about in the refrigerator. “You like eggs?”
“I like everything.”
“We’ll have one of my favorites, then. Breakfast for dinner.”
Sayer looked around, touching the magnets on the refrigerator and examining the photographs on the wall.
“You take these?”
“No, Liz—that was my wife—was a photographer. Lived and breathed it.”
“How did she die? Sorry, maybe you don’t want to go there.”
“It’s okay. It was a fast-growing brain tumor. We found out at the beginning of August, and she died before Christmas.” I’d just had that anniversary. It hadn’t been as rough as the year before, but still bad.
“My God. That’s awful. How long were you married?”
“A little over a year.”
When I glanced at Sayer, he looked sympathetic. “That’s rough.”
I nodded. “She was my best friend. We’d known each other all our lives.”
I looked at the framed photographs on the wall. Most of them were nature shots. Two, however, were of me taken out in the yard the first autumn we’d lived in the house. In one, I was looking off into the distance, and in the other, I was smiling widely at the camera. Those had been good times.
I cleared my throat. “Uh, the guest bedroom is down the hall to the right, with the bathroom next to it if you want to put your stuff away and freshen up while I whip us up something to eat.”
“Thanks.”
I watched Sayer walk out of the kitchen. Without the coat and hat, I could see he had broad shoulders and dark hair. He also had a nice ass.
I took out several eggs and broke them in a bowl before adding milk and whisking them into froth. I poured them into the hot, buttered pan. I almost had the bacon fully cooked when Sayer returned, cleaned up and dressed in a pair of jogging pants and a long-sleeved T-shirt. He’d shaved the dark scruff from his jaw, but he looked the type that would just have more in a few hours. His eyebrows were two dark slashes above those blue eyes.
“That smells delicious,” he said, gazing hungrily at the food I’d prepared.
I set the platters of bacon and toast on the table by the bowl of scrambled eggs.
“Dig in,” I invited, taking the seat opposite him. As we ate, I could tell Sayer was pacing himself, holding back from shoveling the food down. I wondered how long it had been since the man had had a good meal.
When we’d finished eating, Sayer offered to wash the dishes, so I lit a fire in the fireplace before taking Boone outside to do his business. The snow had stopped for the time being and the almost full moon peered from behind the clouds, shining over the treetops and lighting the white bark of the aspens that surrounded the yard. I shoved my hands deep into my pockets, the cold, crisp night air cutting into my lungs with every breath and thought about Sayer planning to sleep outside all night. It made me both sad and worried for the man, and I wondered what his story was. My uncle had once been homeless for a period of time, but he’d had us to stay with until he’d gotten back on his feet.
The territorial hooting of a great horned owl broke the silence of the night. A raccoon scuttled across the yard and into the safety of the nearby bushes before Boone could get to it.
“Come on, boy. Inside,” I said.
I found Sayer sitting in the living room, reading the newspaper. He looked up when I walked in.
“I hope you don’t mind.”
“Of course not. Help yourself.” I sat down in the large armchair and, after taking off my boots, stretched out my feet in front of the fire, Boone settling on the floor next to me.
“How did you wind up homeless, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“The usual.” Sayer folded the newspaper and set it aside. I noticed he’d been looking at the job listings. “Lost my job and could only live on my savings for so long. Not too many opportunities for hotel managers out there, evidently.”
“You managed a hotel? I had you pinned as something a little more—I don’t know, artsy.”
Sayer looked surprised. “I do paint, actually, but I’ve spent the last fifteen years with Frazier Hotels. The owner gave my position to his son when he graduated college. No warning, no compensation.”
“That was a shitty thing to do.”
“Tell me about it.” Sayer gazed pensively into the fire. He had a nice profile—masculine yet refined. “I hocked everything I had, confident I could pull myself back up. When I couldn’t find anything in the hotel business, I started looking for work elsewhere. And then anywhere, everywhere…I couldn’t even get a job at a fast food place—they said I was overqualified. I tried to sell my little house but the market was bad. Eventually the bank took it. After that, I lived in my car.”
“Didn’t you have any friends willing to help you out?” I asked, amazed at the downward spiral he’d described. I knew things like that happened, but I’d never met anyone they’d happened to other than my uncle, and things had never gotten that bad for him. Any one of my buddies at the fire station would have taken me in if I were in that situation—didn’t Sayer have friends or family?
As though he’d read my mind, Sayer said, “I don’t have any family. The few good friends I had were newly married or had just had a baby, and I couldn’t see imposing on them. I didn’t want to tell them what was happening. I set out on my own to try my luck elsewhere.”
“Where was this?”
“About three hundred miles from here, a little town called Woodson.”
“What happened to your car?”
“Somebody stole it a week ago while I was pissing in the bushes. My fault. I left the keys in the ignition.”
I marveled at the man’s poor luck.
“Well, you don’t have to leave here any time soon,” I said.
“I can’t impose on you.”
“Look, man.” I leaned forward, face serious, “Sometimes you’ve got to accept some help.”
“I am accepting help. You’ve given me food. I’ll get a good night’s sleep and be off tomorrow.”
“Off where?”
“Boulder first, then if I can’t find work there, the next city.”
“There’s absolutely no reason you can’t stay here, at least until after Christmas. You’re not going to find work until after the holidays anyway.”
“It’s nice of you to worry about me, but I’ll be fine.”
“Maybe, but if you’re smart, you’ll take me up on my offer. Get a few days rest and build your strength up so you’ll be ready to put your best foot forward after the holidays.”
Sayer looked at me with the wariness of someone who didn’t trust what they were hearing. “I’ve never met anyone like you. You’re a really nice guy.”
“I’m sorry there haven’t been nicer people in your life,” I said sincerely.
He shook his head. “I don’t know if you’re just naive, or if I’ve become too cynical.”
“Maybe it’s a little bit of both.”
I watched the logs crackling and spitting spa
rks while Sayer picked up the newspaper again. There was no way I was letting him back out in this weather, so I hoped he was giving what I’d said some thought.
After a while, I said, “Want some decaf? I think I’ll make a pot.”
“Sure, that sounds great. Even with this roaring fire, I can’t seem to warm up all the way.”
I went into the kitchen to put on the coffee and feed Boone. I paused again in front of the photos on the wall. Waterfalls, mountains, Blind River.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered in case some part of Liz still lingered in this house we both loved.
Returning to the living room with two full cups, I placed Sayer’s on the table beside him and sat down again.
“I’ve been thinking about what you said.”
I raised a brow, cup to my lips. “Oh?”
Sayer looked me in the eyes. “I’d like to take you up on your hospitality. It’s very generous, and I swear I’m going to pay you back as soon as I can.”
I smiled. “I believe you. And I’m glad you’re staying.”
I meant it. I’d been alone too long, and having someone around at Christmas would be nice.
CHAPTER TWO
Sayer
“You don’t have a Christmas tree up,” I said to Dane. I’d slept like the dead the night before and felt better than I had in weeks. The breakfast of oatmeal and toast Dane had made filled my stomach, and I was warm for the first time in a long while.
“I haven’t put one up the last two years,” Dane said.
I realized that was probably because of his wife passing away. Poor guy.
“I haven’t had a tree in a while either. As a kid, I loved putting one up and decorating it. Best part of Christmas. Well, besides the presents. It’s not so great when you’re alone, though.”
Dane nodded. “You want to get one? I’m game.”
Surprised, I stared at him a moment. It was hard not to. Fit body, thick blond hair, all-American features and those soft brown eyes. I imagined putting a tree up with him. Listening to carols. Decorating. My heart yearned for the comfort and tradition of that scenario.
“That’d be nice.”
The Key to his Heart for Christmas Page 1