Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday FamilySugar Plum SeasonHer Cowboy HeroSmall-Town Fireman

by Ruth Logan Herne

  Crisp, cool air greeted her, and she fought off a shiver that had nothing to do with the weather. That was the scent she’d noticed on Jason the first day they met, fresh and outdoorsy. Something told her that from now on whenever she was caught outside on a winter day, she’d think of him.

  Deliberately pulling her mind back to practical things, she asked, “Can I look now?”

  “Go ahead.”

  She opened her eyes, then blinked in total disbelief. He’d mentioned something about adding a tree and an archway, but this was way beyond anything she could have imagined even on her best day.

  The simple arch she’d envisioned had become a full-fledged arbor, twined with greenery and twinkling white lights. The tree wasn’t made of wood, but was a seven-foot-tall artificial spruce with more lights and a multipointed crystal star on top. Gifts wrapped in gold and silver paper were clustered around the base, and one box looked as if it had spilled open to show off a collection of wooden soldiers like the ones that would march onstage in a few short weeks.

  On the left side was her nutcracker. Sort of. The static sign Jenna had made now swung from hooks that allowed it to move in the breeze. The new arrangement made him look as if he was dancing. Awestruck by the combined effect of all those Christmassy elements, she was convinced a professional designer couldn’t have devised a better representation of the popular holiday ballet.

  Apparently, there was more to the towering lumberjack than axes and hammers. Who would have guessed that? Astounded by the results, she stared up at Jason in disbelief. “You did this?”

  “Yup.” Folding his arms, he cocked his head with an eager expression. “You like it?”

  “Are you kidding? I love it!” Forgetting her vow to remain detached, she laughed and gave him a quick hug. “It must’ve taken you forever. How did you manage to get so much done over the weekend?”

  “The tree I made didn’t turn out so well. Then I remembered your aunt used to put one up. I found it out back in your storage shed.”

  “You mean, the one that’s locked and I can’t find the key to?”

  “That’s the one.”

  “How did you get it open?” As soon as she finished her question, she had to laugh. “Let me guess. Sledgehammer?”

  “Bolt cutters, and I replaced the lock with a new one. The keys are in your office.” Glancing around, he leaned in and murmured, “I made the arbor for my gram’s garden. I’m gonna need that back before Christmas.”

  Impressed beyond words, she went up to examine it more closely. Flowers and vines were carved into every piece of wood, curling up to meet in the middle of the arch in a heart with a script B in the center. “Jason, this is absolutely beautiful. You’re incredibly talented.”

  He gave her an aw-shucks grin that made him look like an overgrown little boy. “I’m sure you’re used to fancier stuff, so it’s nice of you to say that. The power box is down here.” He pointed to an open-back square of wood. “The cord runs to your outside receptacle by the front door, and I marked the switch in the lobby that controls it. That way, you can turn everything on and off from inside.”

  She was amazed that he’d thought to set it up so she wouldn’t have to go out in the cold to shut things down. They barely knew each other, and already he’d come up with a way to make her life easier—and warmer. After fending for herself for so long, she liked knowing he was looking out for her.

  Despite her usual reserve, she could no longer deny she was warming up to this irresistible man. “Jason, I don’t know what to say. This is way beyond what I was expecting. How can I ever repay you?”

  “Another one of those hugs would be cool.”

  Laughing because she couldn’t help herself, she obliged him, adding a peck on his cold cheek for good measure. Pulling away, she frowned. “You must be freezing, after working out here so long. Would you like some coffee or something to warm you up?”

  “That’d be great, thanks.”

  “I don’t have any made in the office right now, but there’s some out back. Come on.”

  Again, he motioned for her to go in ahead of him. For years, she’d been living in big, bustling cities where everyone rushed past her as if she didn’t exist. It might be old-fashioned of her, but she had to admit she liked Jason’s way better.

  * * *

  Amy’s apartment was...not what he’d expected.

  Raised by his parents to be respectful above all else, Jason stood awkwardly in the middle of the narrow doorway, trying to come up with something nice to say. Built onto the rear of the studio, it was a single room with a tiny kitchenette and a small bathroom. The walls were raw drywall, and several buckets scattered around the floor alerted him there were leaks in the roof. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the worst part. “There’s something wrong with the furnace back here. I’ve been in freezers warmer than this.”

  “You have not,” she scoffed.

  “I worked for a butcher in Utah for six months, and trust me, his cooler temp wasn’t far off this place. How do I get to your utilities?” She blinked up at him, then began casting around as if she had no clue. It shouldn’t have been funny, but he couldn’t help laughing. “There must be a way to get into the crawl space under the addition. Do you know where it is?”

  “I’m sure Uncle Fred does.”

  Jason hated to bother the man for something that simple, and he shrugged. “No problem. I’ll find it.”

  “That’s not necessary. I’m hardly ever in here, so it doesn’t bother me.”

  “Must get cold at night, though.”

  After a couple of moments, she relented with a sigh. “Okay, you got me. I sleep on the couch in the office.”

  “That can’t be good for your back,” he chided her as gently as he could. With an injury like hers, she should have the most supportive mattress she could get, not some lumpy old sofa. “You keep doing that, pretty soon you won’t be able to get up in the morning.”

  “It’s fine,” she said curtly.

  “It’s not fine, and before I go, I’ll make sure you’ve got heat. While we’re at it, have you got any idea where your roof’s leaking from?”

  “Umm...above?”

  A smart aleck, he groaned silently. Just what he needed. Then again, he’d had more fun with her than any other woman he’d met recently. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, and fortunately, he didn’t have time to ponder it now. “I’ll climb up there, too, and find out what’s going on. My hunch is you lost a few shingles in that bad storm we had last week, and now the water’s getting in. There’s some extra roofing stuff in the shed, so I’ll do a patch that’ll keep things dry in here.”

  Gratitude flooded her eyes, and she gave him a sweet but cautious smile. “Thank you.”

  Something in the way she said it got to him, and it took him a minute to figure out why. When he landed on an explanation, he couldn’t keep back a grin. Troubled but unwilling to ask for help, her fierce sense of pride reminded him of himself. “I’m confused. Why’re you living like this when your aunt and uncle are right here in town?”

  “I prefer having my own place, even if it’s not ideal.”

  Her suddenly cool tone warned him not to push, and he decided it would be wise to let her have this one. It was none of his business anyway, so he focused on something less personal. “So, we’ve got the furnace and the roof. What else is wrong?”

  “I hate to impose on you,” she hedged, handing him a bright red cup with a handle molded to resemble a candy cane. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

  He didn’t think this serious and very independent woman would respond well to a damsel-in-distress joke, so he sipped his coffee and saluted her with the festive mug. “’Tis the season and all.”

  Another hesitation, then she finally gave in and rattled off a list of problems,
from leaky plumbing to some kind of vague fluttery sound above the drop ceiling.

  “I’d imagine there’s a bird stuck in there,” he commented. “Or a bat.”

  Every bit of color drained from her face, and he reached out to steady her in case she fainted on him. After a few moments, she seemed to collect herself and pulled back. “Bats?”

  “Kidding.” Sort of. But her reaction had been real enough, and he made a mental note that the pretty ballerina wasn’t a big fan of the local wildlife.

  “I do not want anything flying or crawling or scurrying around where I live,” she announced very clearly.

  “Don’t worry. If I can’t get rid of ’em myself, I’ll call an exterminator.”

  “But don’t hurt them,” she amended, her soft heart reflected in those stunning blue eyes. “Just take them out to the country where they belong.”

  “Will do.” While they chatted, he’d been eyeballing the old floorboards, searching for some kind of opening. When he located it in the kitchen, he popped the edge with the heel of his boot and set it aside. “Got a flashlight?”

  That she had, and after she gave it to him, he swung it around in the darkness. The opening was a pretty tight fit for a guy his size, but he decided to give it a shot. Worst case, he’d get stuck and Paul would come rescue him. And never let him hear the end of it.

  Thinking again, he handed his phone over to Amy. “There’s gonna be some banging and grumbling down there, so don’t worry. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call my dad and tell him to bring a reciprocating saw. His name is Tom, and he’s speed-dial number 2.”

  “Reciprocating saw,” she repeated with an efficient nod. “Got it.”

  “I don’t suppose you’ve got a pair of pliers or a wrench or anything?”

  To his amazement, she went to an upper cupboard and brought out a small toolbox. “Uncle Fred left me this in case I needed something. Will anything in there help you?”

  “Maybe.” Jason took what he thought would be most helpful and tucked the tools into the back pockets of his jeans. Then he sat on the edge of the opening and gave her a mock salute. “Here goes nothin’.”

  He wedged himself into the cramped space and pulled himself along on his back, hand over hand from one floor joist to the next. When light suddenly flooded the darkness, he yelped in surprise. “Whoa! What’d you do?”

  “I wheeled in a portable spotlight from the studio,” she replied in a voice muffled by the floor. “Is it helping at all, or should I change the angle?”

  “It’s awesome,” he approved heartily. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.”

  Even from a distance, she sounded pretty proud of herself, and he chuckled. To his relief, the furnace malfunction was nothing more than an air duct that had wiggled loose and was dangling free. He nearly shouted out the problem, then thought better of it. From several comments she’d made, he gathered Amy was concerned about money. She probably wouldn’t be thrilled to discover she’d been paying to heat the crawl space under her apartment.

  Reaching into his pocket, he fished out a screwdriver and tightened the screws on the collar that fastened the duct in place.

  One extra turn for good measure, Jason. He heard Granddad’s voice in his memory. That kind of thing happened more often lately, as Will Barrett’s time on earth gradually ticked away. Swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, Jason grimaced even as he followed his grandfather’s advice.

  When he was finished, he carefully shimmied back out the way he’d come in, settling on Amy’s kitchen floor in a cloud of dust. “Sorry about that.”

  “Don’t be silly,” she scolded with a delighted expression. “Do you feel that? It’s warm air!”

  Grabbing his hand, she held it over a nearby register to prove it. When their eyes met, she seemed to realize what she’d done and abruptly let go. Feeling slightly awkward, he did his best not to read anything into the odd exchange. She’d been freezing, and he was the one who fixed her furnace. No biggie.

  But another part of him saw things differently. Until now, she’d been polite but reserved with him, making him believe it would take a long time—and a truckload of patience—to gain her trust. That quick but impulsive gesture told him he was making progress, and she was beginning to warm up to him.

  He didn’t know what the lady had in mind, but he was looking forward to finding out.

  Chapter Four

  Rehearsals with her little troupe of dancers were always interesting.

  Having been involved with professional dance companies for most of her life, Amy had to frequently remind herself these were kids in a small town whose first exposure to ballet was coming through her. Her purpose in starting with The Nutcracker was twofold: it had a nice story and it had an unlimited number of roles available. When they were finished, she hoped her students loved it as much as she did.

  But for now, she’d give anything to get Brad Knowlton to pay attention long enough to absorb the set blocking she’d just explained for the umpteenth time. “This is your mark,” she repeated as patiently as she could. “We taped it here last week, remember?”

  His eight-year-old face wrinkled into a frown, and if he’d been a grown-up, she would’ve assumed he really was trying to cooperate, but his mind was elsewhere. Since this was her first formal experience with teaching, she wasn’t sure what the problem was. So she took a stab at identifying whatever was troubling her nutcracker prince. Clapping her hands to get their attention, she announced, “Let’s take a break, everyone. Get a snack, use the bathroom and meet me back onstage in ten minutes.”

  That was one trick she’d learned the first day with her raucous crew. They loved being on the big stage, with its many spotlights overhead, and its triple rows of elegant velvet draperies that could be opened and closed as needed. Giggling and chatting excitedly, they went off in a more or less orderly line to get cookies and juice from the small fridge she always kept stocked with treats. Teaching dance to kids under the age of twelve was kind of like being a lion tamer, she mused with a smile. It never hurt to keep some of their favorite foods close by.

  She let them all go ahead of her, then helped herself to a bottle of water. The cookies looked yummy, but her lingering injuries limited her physical activity, and she had to keep an eagle eye on her weight. Slight as she was, if she gained too many pounds, her reconstructed back and spine would pay the price, and she’d be in major trouble. As with most things, she’d learned that the hard way.

  Averting her eyes from the temptation, she took a seat next to Brad, who’d crammed a chocolate-chip cookie into his mouth and stacked three more on his napkin in the shape of a pyramid. While he chewed, she casually asked, “Having a good time tonight?”

  Still munching, he swallowed and then nodded. His brown eyes looked unsure, though, and she edged a little closer. “You’re not really, are you?”

  After hesitating for a moment, he shook his head and sipped some juice. Since he didn’t seem eager to confide in her, Amy debated whether to let it go. She hated it when people forced her to talk, but with the days to opening night ticking down like an Advent calendar, she didn’t have much choice. If Brad didn’t want to play the lead, she had to find another boy who did ASAP.

  She tried to put herself in his place but discovered even her vivid imagination wasn’t that good. She’d never been a young boy, after all. What did she know about how their brains worked?

  Hoping she wouldn’t come across to him as a disapproving adult, she began her inquisition. “You seemed to be having fun with this the last time we rehearsed. Did something happen between then and now to make you change your mind?”

  While he considered her question, she fought the urge to step in and help him make the right choice. Patience wasn’t exactly her strong point, but she tamped down her anxiety and summoned an
understanding smile. She didn’t want to lose him, but she only wanted him to remain in the cast if he was enjoying himself. This was supposed to be fun, and she didn’t want any of the kids to feel pressured.

  Finally, he said, “My mom took me to see The Nutcracker this weekend.”

  “What a great idea! How did you like it?”

  “It was awesome,” he replied, eyes wide with enthusiasm. “The soldiers and battle stuff were really cool. They shot off a cannon, and the prince got to kill the mouse king with his sword. How come we’re not doing that?”

  Boys and their toys, she thought, muting a grin that would only insult him. His mother probably wanted to expose him to some culture, and his takeaway was the battle scene. “First of all, I don’t own a cannon, so that was out. Secondly, I wanted to keep our show short enough for little kids in the audience to enjoy. You have a two-year-old sister. How long can she sit still?”

  “Not very long,” he admitted. “But having a sword would be cool.”

  She could envision it now: the nutcracker prince chasing flowers and sugar-plum fairies all over her studio, waving a blade over his head like some marauding pirate captain. In an attempt to avoid being the bad guy on this issue, she asked, “How do you think your mother would like that?”

  His hopeful expression deflated, and he stared down at the table with a sigh. “She’d hate it. She’d say I could poke someone’s eye out or something stupid like that.”

  “I’m sure you wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose, but accidents can happen when there are so many people onstage together. Someone could stumble and poke themselves, and then we’d be in trouble.”

  “I guess.”

  He was one of a handful of boys she taught, and by far the most talented. With a wiry, athletic build, he seemed to genuinely enjoy learning the routines, and he had a natural stage presence rare in someone his age. Because of that, she hated seeing him so disheartened and searched for a way to ease his disappointment.