by Shirley Jump
Knowing better, Ruby just smiled and kept on sewing.
Still amused at the timing of the man’s arrival, Sarah’s lips twitched. Rosie’s grandmother’s cinnamon swirl bread was the stuff legends were made of. Women had been attempting to copy the recipe for years without success. Rosie closely guarded the recipe, as she swore it was guaranteed to put a sparkle in a man’s eye. She wasn’t about to let the other town women in on her little secret.
Maybelle’s penciled-on brow arched and she made a loud tsking sound at Rosie. “If you really thought you had a chance with Mr. Tall, Dark, and Stoic there, you’d have fired up the oven and started stirring the batter.”
Rosie’s gaze narrowed but with good nature as she intoned, “I’ll stir your batter, Maybelle Kirby.”
The women laughed as one Christmas song ended and another began.
With almost every eye on him, the man scanned the room, apparently searching for something, or someone. He didn’t look impressed—more like he didn’t belong in the room or around happy people in general. With his observant, stern expression, he stuck out like a pumpkin on Christmas morning.
Despite the stranger’s serious demeanor, Rosie was right that he was easy to look at. Give the man a smile, and he’d make women of all ages swoon.
Who was he and why was he there?
“You should go say hi, Sarah,” Claudia suggested, giving her arm a nudge. “Maybe he’s a traveling man and you’ll get to see the world.”
“Ask if he’s single,” Rosie added, waggling her drawn-on brows.
“Ladies,” Sarah scolded them. “Didn’t I just remind you of the reasons why I don’t care if he’s single or not? Still, as the planner, I should see why he’s here.”
She started to stand, but another volunteer positioned closer to the door walked up to talk to the newcomer. With the music and the chatter around the room that had resumed, Sarah couldn’t hear what he said, but Carrie turned and was pointing toward Sarah’s table.
Sarah’s belly did a flip-flop.
“Do you know him?” she asked the woman sitting next to her, wondering if this handsome stranger was some long-lost son.
Maybelle squinted her eyes toward the man, then shook her head. “Can’t say as I do, but looks like we’re about to find out. He’s headed this way. Rosie, you’d best behave.”
Rosie pursed her lips at Maybelle. “I’m not making any promises. He offers to whisk me off my feet and carry me to his castle, I’m out of here.”
“He offers to whisk you off your feet and carry you off to his castle, then somebody had better call 911, because I’d have a heart attack right here and now,” Maybelle warned, her tone its usual dry sass.
Still talking to Carrie, the man nodded, then headed toward her table, too, his gaze settling on Maybelle.
“He looks more like a villain trying to storm the castle than the prince inside,” Sarah mused, studying the man’s intent expression, his broad shoulders that tapered to a narrow waist, and his proud stride.
He definitely had a “you’d better not mess with me” vibe.
“Ma’am,” he said when he reached them, his eyes trained on Maybelle, before taking a moment to visually acknowledge each of the women at the table. His gaze lingered a millisecond when it connected with Sarah’s, almost as if he was surprised by her presence, perhaps because she was so much younger than the other women. But then his sharp blue eyes moved back to Maybelle.
Sarah gulped, wondering at the tightening in her throat at his perusal. She’d swear she’d just been mentally photographed. That they all had been, to the point where if he was called upon to give every detail of the room and the people in it, he’d be able to do so with vivid detail and perfect accuracy.
“Do I know you, son?” Maybelle never had been one to beat around the bush.
“No, ma’am.” His stance was stiff, overly formal. “But I came to Pine Hill to find you.”
“Lucky you,” Rosie stage-whispered, giving Claudia another elbow to the arm.
It was rare for anyone to surprise Maybelle, but the woman looked shocked. “Why in the world would you want to find me?”
He glanced around the table again, looking a little uncomfortable. That surprised Sarah. She doubted much got under this man’s skin. He came across as a guy who had seen a lot during his lifetime.
“Is there perhaps somewhere we could go talk in private, Ms. Smith?”
Four jaws dropped, but not Maybelle’s.
Maybelle arched a brow and gave him a look that had been straightening up naughty Sunday school children for years. “Ms. Smith?”
“The blonde at the door pointed me in this direction. You are Sarah Smith?”
Rosie’s shoe delivered a swift nudge against Sarah’s foot. Sarah knew that any second now, Rosie would be inviting him to join them for ornament making and pointing out Sarah’s ringless finger. With her stomach feeling fluttery, Sarah tucked her feet as far back beneath her chair as they’d comfortably go and attempted to use telepathy to get the woman to hold her tongue.
No doubt fully aware of Rosie’s soccer tryouts beneath the crafting table, Maybelle laughed. “Looks like your ad in the paper worked this time, Sarah, and found you a man, after all.”
Sarah knew where Maybelle’s mind had gone. It wasn’t on help-wanted ads or house repairs. Ugh.
“This one looks as if he can take anything you dish out at him,” Maybelle continued, all innocent-like.
Sarah gave Maybelle her best glare. She hadn’t dished anything out to the other handymen. She’d expected them to do their job. Hamilton House deserved better than a messy, thrown-together restoration.
If she was lucky, this guy could finish the needed remodeling to the downstairs suites and the other repairs she needed to get done prior to her Grand Opening of Hamilton House on Christmas.
“Let’s hope he isn’t afraid to get his hands dirty,” Rosie piped up from across the table.
Sarah’s gaze dropped to the stranger’s hands. They did appear capable of anything she might ask of him. Sturdy, slightly calloused, with bluntly cut clean fingernails. Ringless.
Ringless?
Now why in the world had she noticed that? Because of her friends’ earlier suggestions? Or because his blue eyes were fringed with thick lashes and held intelligence and intrigue that made her want to dig deeper? Because his strong chin beneath high cheekbones indicated determination and resolve, while the tiny scar above his left brow hinted he was a man who didn’t back down when things got tough?
She didn’t need to feel Rosie’s shoe nudge hers again to know exactly why she’d noticed his bare finger. Had her friends been nowhere around, she still would’ve noticed the handsome stranger. He wasn’t a man a woman could ignore.
She’d have to be careful not to encourage the Butterflies, or they’d really be playing Cupid.
Even if she’d been interested in meeting someone—which she wasn’t—a man who had yet to smile wasn’t her type. No matter how handsome he was.
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