“A few of my guys will be here later this morning.” He turned back to her with a narrowed gaze. “We’ll probably have to turn off the power for a while.”
“That’s fine. I assumed you would.” She stood and started jogging again.
Mike watched her run several yards. “Do you always jog inside here?”
“Only on days when the weather is nasty,” she said, running past him and turning to glance back over her shoulder. “The rest of the time, I run outside.”
He nodded and continued on his way to the back room to begin working on a project he didn’t really want to do with a woman he didn’t want to see running laps past him. Mike had to beg, plead, and promise overtime pay to the guys on his payroll he’d coerced into helping him rewire the building.
In theory, the work should have taken at least a week, but he hoped to get it all completed before Monday. If he did, he could wash his hands of the festival and go on his merry way.
The sound of Taylor’s footsteps jogging around the warehouse stilled. No happy barks gave away the presence of the dog either. He stepped out of the back room to see the warehouse was empty.
Taylor left the radio playing, though. The cheerful holiday tunes irritated Mike, so he located the radio and changed the music to an oldies rock station.
As he listened to Aerosmith and Led Zeppelin, he focused on his work. An hour later, the smell of rich, dark coffee wafted to him. He set down his tools, following his nose to where Brenna set down a carafe of coffee on a table in the center of the room. Brock carried in a platter of breakfast sandwiches and warm apple fritters.
“You angel of mercy, I could kiss you,” Mike teased, wrapping Brenna in a brotherly hug. He knuckle-bumped Brock and looked around. “Where’s Alex?”
“Mom’s keeping him today. We made the mistake of going out to do a little shopping this morning. After being shoved and pushed through the first store, we came home.” Brenna glanced around the warehouse. “I thought you might need a little sustenance.”
“Always,” Mike said, accepting the foil-wrapped biscuit filled with ham, eggs, and cheese Brenna handed to him.
“Are you the only one here?” Brock asked, helping himself to a fritter and a cup of coffee.
“Yep. Miss Taggart was here with a dog every bit as loony as she is, but they left about an hour ago.”
Brock smirked. “And that would be why you’re listening to The Eagles and Lynyrd Skynyrd instead of Christmas classics.”
“You’ve got that right, dude.” Mike took a big bite of his sandwich and purposely overlooked Brenna’s frown. “I convinced my crew to help me with this project. It’ll cost me an arm and a leg, but it’ll be worth it to get this job finished as fast as possible.”
Brenna placed a hand on his arm. “Mike, I didn’t mean for this to cost you money. I’m sorry. I…” She stopped and grasped his chin in her hand, turning his head to the light. “What did you do to your eye?”
“My eye?” Mike reached up to touch his left eye. Involuntarily, he flinched when his fingers connected with the sore flesh. “Miss Taggart’s lunatic dog jumped up and hit me in the face when I got here. Why?”
Brock moved to get a better look at it and chuckled. “You are in for a real shiner, my friend. It’s already turning purple.”
“What?” Mike rushed out of the room and down the hall to the bathroom. He flicked on the light and scowled at his reflection in the mirror. Sure enough, it looked like he’d been in a fistfight and come out the loser. “Just perfect,” he grumbled as he made his way back to Brock and Brenna.
When he returned to the open storage area, a red head caught his eye and drew his wrath.
“Miss Taggart!” he bellowed, striding toward her with fury fueling his steps.
She spun around and stared at him, her lips parted and surprise evident in her pale eyes.
Mike pointed to his rapidly discoloring eye. “Look what your dog did to me.”
She stretched up on tiptoe and stared at his eye. “That’s a doozy. Sorry about that. Fred gets excited and she loves to jump. I should have warned you.” The woman backed up a few steps and lifted her hands in front of her, forming fists. She dodged and feinted, bouncing on the balls of her feet. “Aren’t you supposed to float like a bird and sting like a wasp?”
Brock coughed to hide his laugh and Brenna turned away, pretending to be busy pouring more coffee, unsuccessful in her attempts to stifle her giggles.
Not in the mood for laughter, Mike tamped down the smile generated by the sight of Taylor in a fighter stance. The zany woman wore red bib overall shorts, a white frilly blouse, red and white striped tights, and green high-top sneakers. The vision she created put him in mind of a candy cane... or an escapee from Santa’s asylum for wayward elves.
She looked ridiculous. Furthermore, she’d bungled one of his favorite quotes from a sports legend.
“You float like a butterfly, Miss Taggart. A butterfly. And sting like a bee.”
Taylor stopped bouncing around and dropped her hands. “Oh, that makes much more sense.” She turned and snagged a cup of coffee off the table then disappeared down the hallway, whistling an off-key rendition of Jingle Bells.
Mike ran a frustrated hand through his hair and swallowed back the smart remark that lingered on his tongue before it pushed past his lips. With his luck, she’d hear him and he’d have to offer an apology he wouldn’t sincerely mean.
Brenna handed him an apple fritter. “This will make you feel better,” she said, refilling his cup. She studied him as he ate the pastry and drank the hot, richly brewed coffee. “What is it with you and Taylor?”
Mike choked on the coffee he’d just swallowed and coughed into the napkin Brenna shoved into his hand. Eyes watering, he glowered at her. “There is no me and Taylor. What made you ask that?”
Brenna grinned. “You’re always so charming and fun, teasing and sweet. You’re everyone’s favorite big brother. It’s not like you to take such an instant dislike to someone. Especially someone as kind and gentle as Taylor.”
Mike set the coffee cup on the table, agitated at his friends. “I don’t dislike her. I just don’t want to be around her. She’s nuts, dresses like a hyper kindergartener on a sugar rush, and no one can be that upbeat and happy all the time.”
Brock thumped Mike’s shoulder again with a knowing look on his face. “It couldn’t have anything to do with the fact she has red hair and reminds you of…”
“Don’t say it. Don’t say that name around me.” Mike shot Brock a warning glare and turned to Brenna with a tight smile. “Thank you for breakfast, sweet cakes. I’ll talk to you later.”
Before either of them could say another word, he marched back to where he’d been working and picked up his tools.
“I was really hoping Mike would like Taylor.” Brenna sighed and leaned against her husband.
Brock settled his hands around her waist and rested his chin on top of her head. “He does. It’s just going to take a little work for Mike to admit it. That’s why he’s fighting it so hard.”
Brenna smiled. “He’s been so sad, so not like himself since Julia broke up with him. I want him to be happy again.”
“We all do, baby. Give him time.” Brock pressed a kiss to her temple. “I better get busy painting or that whole section of the festival will look far more rustic than you girls have planned.”
“I’ll help,” Brenna said, snagging a paintbrush from the box of supplies Brock carried and swatting him across the rear with it.
“You better watch it, Mrs. McCrae, or you’ll find yourself in deep trouble.”
Brenna shot him a flirtatious smile. “That’s always the best kind.”
Chapter Four
Mike looked around the empty warehouse, pleased with all the work he accomplished over the weekend. With the help of his employees, he’d installed a new breaker box, rewired the entire place, and added fifteen new outlets.
Both Friday and Saturday he’d worked eig
hteen hours then returned after church Sunday. He spent the afternoon finishing the last of the outlets so everything would be ready for the arrival of the first trees the following day. The overtime pay he gave his crew for the two days they worked was definitely worth it.
As far as Mike was concerned, he’d done more than Brenna had asked of him and he could leave the place with a clear conscience. If his luck held, he wouldn’t have to spend another minute around Miss Taylor Taggart.
The woman had more than one screw loose. Yesterday, while he and his guys worked on the wiring and Brock finished painting, Taylor cleaned yards and yards of fake pine garlands someone had donated to the festival.
Mid-afternoon, the sound of Twisted Sister belting out Deck the Halls filled the room. Astonished, Mike watched as Taylor looped a garland around her neck like a feather boa and danced to the song. At one point in her impromptu performance, she played a mean bit of air guitar that rivaled anything Mike or Levi had executed during their high school days.
Entranced, intrigued, and shocked by her odd behavior in front of a room full of strangers, he couldn’t get a handle on what made the woman tick.
She wasn’t loud or outspoken. Nor did she seek to be the center of attention. Yet she lived as though no one watched a thing she did. She didn’t seem to possess a single care in the world for what others thought of her or her actions.
Mike never gave much thought to what others thought of him, either, at least he hadn’t until last spring. When his life turned upside down, he’d crawled into a hole of self-pity and refused to venture outside of it.
Part of what annoyed him most about Taylor was her constant chipper attitude and peppy demeanor. The woman had probably never known a moment of drama or despair. She’d certainly never had her heart ripped out of her chest and stomped all over while the world observed.
Sucked into his dark thoughts, Mike jumped when a fist playfully connected with his arm.
Brock chuckled. “Hey, man, you think I was the grim reaper or something?”
Mike glowered at him and finished packing his tools. “No. I didn’t hear you come in.”
“That was obvious. You looked like you were a million miles away.” Brock’s teasing smile faded. He placed a gentle hand on Mike’s shoulder, giving it a squeeze. “Are you sure you’re okay, bro?”
“I’m fine. Just dandy. Never better,” Mike grumbled, handing Brock a toolbox while he lifted a box full of electrical supplies. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see if you needed any help. I know you’ve worked long hours to update all this,” Brock waved a hand around the warehouse as they walked across the floor. “And it truly is appreciated. Brenna thought maybe you’d join us for lunch after church services, but you disappeared before I could ask.”
“I wanted to wrap up things here.” Mike set the box of supplies in the back of his truck, glad the rain had stopped, even if the air held a definite chilly bite to it.
“Anything else you need to finish?”
“Nope. I tested all the outlets and there shouldn’t be a single reason anyone needs me to return.”
Brock grinned. “Are you really that busy with your other jobs or are you avoiding Taylor?”
Mike offered a self-deprecating smile. “Maybe a little of both.”
“That’s what I thought.” Brock helped Mike turn off the lights and lock the door. Taylor had given Mike a key on Friday, telling him to come and go as he pleased.
Taken aback by her trust, the fact she’d given him a key reaffirmed his belief that she lived in a world of her own creation — one full of sparkly sunshine where everyone was kind and trustworthy. For her sake, he hoped nothing ever happened to obliterate her happy little existence.
Mike removed the key from his key ring and handed it to Brock. “Will you give that to Miss Taggart? I won’t need it any longer.”
Brock raised an eyebrow but took the key as they walked back to their trucks. “Do you want to come over and have dinner with us?”
“Nah. I’m fine, but thanks for asking.” Mike opened his pickup door and slid onto the seat.
“But, Mike, I…”
Mike held up a hand to silence his friend. “I’m fine, Brock. Even if I don’t seem like it now, I will be. Eventually. A broken heart takes more time to heal than anyone likes to admit.”
Chapter Five
Taylor stared at the open book on her lap as she sat in bed, attempting to relax. She’d spent ten minutes rereading the same page, but her thoughts drifted to Mike Clarke.
Something about him had captured her interest the moment she’d met him and she couldn’t shake it. The way he lingered in her thoughts left her unsettled. She wasn’t looking for a relationship with anyone, particularly not a man she found so appealing.
In spite of her efforts to decide what it was about him that drew her, it was impossible to point to any one thing.
On the surface, his hair was too long, his beard unkempt. In the days since she met him, he’d worn Henley shirts beneath layers of flannel work shirts and canvas pants with plenty of pockets along with scuffed work boots. He might have dressed in Armani suits or ragged clothes from a donation bin. None of that mattered to her.
However, she couldn’t overlook the breadth of his shoulders, the strength in his arms, and the confidence in his bearing as he worked.
The few times she’d seen him smile and laugh, his entire face transformed. He looked more like a loveable teddy than a grouchy old bear.
Humored by the comparison, she allowed her thoughts to dwell on the electrician. When Brenna said she had a friend who would help them with a few outlets, Taylor never envisioned the man working all weekend at a feverish pace to rewire the entire building. She knew he’d paid his employees to help him complete the job. Briefly, she considered offering to pay their wages, but held back. Although she hoped it wouldn’t put Mike in a financial bind, she sensed she’d hurt his pride if she offered him money for the work.
From the easy friendship he shared with Brock and Brenna, Taylor assumed he wasn’t always so gruff and reserved. In fact, he only seemed to be that way around her. Maybe he didn’t like women who marched to their own tune.
Taylor sighed and closed the book, abandoning all effort at reading. She’d learned the hard way that life was too short to conform to what everyone else expected of her. Every day came to her as a precious gift and she planned to make the most of it.
She certainly wouldn’t waste any treasured moments worrying about what others thought of her. Most people considered her a little wacky and eccentric. She was okay with that — except when it came to Mike.
For reasons she couldn’t explain or define, she wanted him to like her.
Bothered by that realization, she slammed the book down on her nightstand, awaking Fred from her bed on the floor. The dog whined and pawed at the air, then settled one leg over her eyes, dropping back to sleep. The cat wandered in and snuggled up next to the dog, making himself comfortable against Fred’s warm side.
Taylor glanced up as her uncle looked on from the open doorway.
“Those two are down for the night,” Bill said, waggling a gnarled finger in the direction of the beloved pets.
Fondly, Taylor smiled. “Who would have thought a cat and dog would get along so well? Those two are like peas in a pod, though. They sleep best when they’re cuddled up together.”
“Most living things sleep better when they can cuddle up with the one they love,” Bill said with a pointed look. “You haven’t been out on a date since you moved here, punkin, and who knows how long before that. Don’t you think it’s about time to try again?”
“I’m perfectly content with you and Fred and Ginger in my life.”
Bill offered her a knowing smile. “You might be content, but you aren’t really happy, kiddo. Your heart is too big to be truly happy without your own special someone to love. I thought I heard something about a hunky electrician helping at the warehouse. What about
him? Is he the one that called you flame-headed?”
“Yes, he’s the one.” Taylor stiffened. “Have you been talking to Brock’s aunt and uncle again? I’m going to have to keep you gossipy old people separated.”
Bill snorted. “Now, don’t go getting any rash ideas. Liz and Andy have been my friends for a long, long time. Nothing wrong with shooting the breeze with them now and again. Liz said Brock’s friend Mike moved to Silverton a few months ago and he’s single. I’ve never met the boy, but Andy and Liz speak highly of him. Liz says he’s a nice young man with a solid business, but something scandalous happened in the spring that made him leave Portland. You know his brother, Levi, don’t you?”
“Yes, I know Levi.” Taylor crossed her arms over her chest and shook her head. “Shame on you, Uncle Bill, for engaging in idle hearsay. Perhaps a painful tragedy drove Mr. Clarke here to Silverton. Maybe he doesn’t need his past dredged up to haunt him.”
Bill took a shuffling step toward Taylor’s bed. “Are you still talking about Mike or did the conversation shift to you?”
She glared at him, remaining silent. Bill moved to the end of the bed and rested his hand on her blanket-covered foot, patting it gently.
“I know your heart was broken, honey. You went through something more painful than most people can imagine, but look at you. You’re like a beautiful ray of sunshine on a bleak day. All I’m saying is that maybe you can shine a little of that light on someone who’s struggling to find his way out of the dark.”
“Maybe he’ll suck me into a black abyss and I’ll turn into a gloomy, detestable monster.” Unable to say the words with a straight face, she bit her lip to hold back a giggle.
Bill laughed. “Not likely, punkin. Give the boy a chance, huh?”
“I might be inclined to do so, but I don’t think he likes me very much.”
A frown creased Bill’s wrinkled brow. “Why do you say that? What isn’t to like?”
“He definitely does not like redheads, and from the disparaging looks he’s tossed at me, I don’t believe he cares for the way I dress.”
Untangling Christmas (Silverton Sweethearts Book 3) Page 3