Love Finds You in North Pole, Alaska

by Loree Lough

  The idea made her giggle as she adjusted the water temperature and lifted the lever that diverted water to the shower head, because how funny would it be if she blurted, “I’d sure love to be around for your fiftieth birthday.” Why, a crack like that might build enough tension inside Bryce’s head to cause the strap of his eye patch to snap!

  Sam felt more than a little silly harboring such thoughts about him and tried to figure out why romantic notions about him kept tickling at her heart. Maybe his ex-soldier status was to blame. Bryce had performed a truly heroic deed that day on the battlefield and had paid a hefty price. What red-blooded American woman wouldn’t have a gratitude-induced crush on a guy like him? And it didn’t hurt that, instead of looking scary and intimidating like the pirates in old movies, Bryce looked downright sexy in his eye patch.

  Sam stepped into the tub and under the shower spray, hoping to wash away the big fat crush she’d developed—like it or not—on her tall, dark, and handsome boss. She’d jumped into a relationship with Joey without paying a bit of attention to her brothers’ “Look before you leap” warning. After months of crying herself to sleep, Sam had come to terms with the fact that while her ex-fiancé had been the source of enormous heartache and disappointment, she had no one but herself to blame, because she hadn’t prayed to ask what God had in mind for her.

  If she ever got involved again, it would be after seeking the Lord’s guidance. And something told her that He didn’t have her too-quiet, too-serious, too-bossy boss in mind for the job!

  Chapter Eleven

  Bryce was halfway down the stairs when he saw Sam on the landing. It only took a quick glance to tell him she’d never get her door locked—not while trying to balance that huge foil-covered plate on the palm of one hand. “Hey,” he said, climbing the stairs two at a time, “let me help you with that.” He stopped on the third step from the top and relieved her of the tray.

  “Thanks,” she said, smiling. He got a whiff of something girlie, but whether it was flowery or fruity would remain her secret, because no way he intended to ask her. She turned toward the exit then, and as Sam tucked her keys into her purse, he couldn’t help but notice two tiny dimples in each knee peeking out from the hem of her denim skirt. Couldn’t help but notice that her pink blouse brought out the rosy glow of her cheeks, either. Bryce decided then and there it wasn’t going to be easy keeping his distance from her. Not if she insisted on looking and smelling like this all the time!

  He led the way into the tiny entry and changed the subject. “Weatherman said it might rain. I can wait if you want to grab a sweater or something…”

  He watched her eyes widen and did his best not to react. “I know it isn’t a long walk from here to Olive’s,” he added, hoping his practical suggestion would take his mind off those long, lush eyelashes, “but this time of year, the temps drop at night, so…”

  On the heels of a sigh, she shrugged. And joining him in the entry, Sam said, “So tell me…how long does it take greenhorns like me to learn stuff like that about Alaska?”

  “Greenhorn,” he inserted, “is what they’d call you in Texas. Here, you’re a cheechako, the Chinookan word for ‘newcomer.’ ” He didn’t add that it also meant “tenderfoot.”

  She treated him to a moment of her musical laughter. “See what I mean? Guess I oughta pray there’s enough empty space in my head to store all the things I don’t know!”

  Grinning, he held the entry door as she added, tapping her temple, “Based on our little kitchen conversation not so long ago, you probably think there’s more than enough space up here for new information.” Another giggle. “Let’s hope the Lord will beef up my memory, then, so that every lesson will stick!”

  Obviously, she’d decided against bringing a sweater. No matter. If it was cold or raining when they headed home, he’d let her borrow his jacket.

  When they headed home. Bryce repeated the phrase a time or two and smiled, liking the way it sounded. He liked it so much, in fact, that when she offered to relieve him of the tray, he shook his head and smiled wider. “I don’t mind carrying it.”

  She gave his ribs a playful elbow jab. “You think that’s funny, do you?”

  The question took him by surprise. “Think what’s funny?”

  “You’re picturing all the empty space between my ears, aren’t you? Hence the Cheshire cat grin.”

  Any woman who could poke fun at herself deserved respect. And one who’d traveled more than four thousand miles behind the wheel of a boxy RV and had made the best of a bad situation when the job that brought her West fell through? Well, Bryce didn’t think she was the least bit spacey, and he said so.

  He noticed, as they followed the concrete walk connecting Rudolph’s and their apartments to Olive’s above-garage home, that Sam had to half-run to keep up with him, so he slowed his pace. “And I’ll have you know this is anything but a Cheshire cat grin.” To prove it, he mimicked the toothy smile of the famous feline.

  If he’d known a little thing like that would invite gales of lyrical laughter, he might have worked harder to encourage it more often. How do you expect to keep her at arm’s length if you let thoughts like that into your head? he wondered. Thankfully, Olive chose that moment to jerk open her front door. “Quit lollygaggin’ like a couple of kids on their way home from school,” she said, leaning over the railing, “and get up here so I can hug the stuffin’ outta the both of you!”

  “She’s a trip!” Sam said, hurrying her pace. “You must have laughed your face off growing up around her.”

  Bryce admitted that, on more than one occasion, she’d even managed to lighten the gloomy mood during somber funerals!

  “I would have loved school even more if my teachers had been like her.”

  In no time, they’d climbed the switchback stairs leading to Olive’s one-room apartment. They’d barely set foot inside before she made good on her promise to hug the “stuffin’ ” out of them. “Easy, woman,” Bryce teased, “or you’ll make me spill…whatever Sam’s got hidden under this layer of foil!”

  Wagging her forefinger, Olive narrowed one eye and fixed the other on Sam. “I thought I told you not to bring anything but yourself.”

  “It’s just a fruit tray. Didn’t want the stuff going moldy in the fridge.”

  “There’s what I like,” Duke thundered, “a girl who wastes not, wants not!” His hearty guffaw bounced off every wall.

  “Put it on the coffee table, Bryce, while I get some paper plates so you menfolk can snack while Sam and I get supper on.”

  The idea of being left alone to entertain Olive’s boyfriend unnerved him more than he cared to admit. “We can help,” Bryce said, setting down the tray. “Everybody knows that eight hands are better than four…”

  “Son,” Duke said, “haven’t you learned yet that men are like kids where kitchens are concerned? We’re not to be seen or heard.”

  Smiling, he nodded as another rumble of Duke’s boisterous laughter echoed through the apartment.

  As it turned out, he needn’t have worried about finding topics to fill the uncomfortable silence, because Duke had more than enough stories at the ready. Stories about his son and grandkids, his years as a marine, and his favorite horse left little more for Bryce to say except “No way” and “You’re kidding!” By the time the women called them into the dining room, it was a relief to admit, “Great…I’m starving!”

  No one would have used the word “gourmet” to describe Aunt Olive’s cooking, but she never failed to impress dinner guests with down-home, simple foods. Tonight, a juicy pot roast, surrounded by golden onions, potatoes, and carrots, served as the centerpiece. Crusty bread and steamed green beans completed the meal.

  Once they’d picked the roast to the bone, Sam suggested that Bryce help her clear the table and serve dessert. “It’s the least we can do,” she said to silence Olive’s protests, “since you went to all this bother for us! Besides, it’ll give you and Duke a little time to play footsies u
nder the table, unnoticed….”

  While everyone chuckled over her parting remark, Bryce followed Sam into the kitchen.

  “Does Olive look all right to you?” she whispered, stacking plates in the sink.

  “What do you mean?” he asked, standing beside her.

  Sam frowned and shook her head as hot water and dish soap formed bubbles in the dishpan. “I’m not sure what I mean, exactly. She just seems…off her game or something.” Looking up at him, she said, “I’m probably way off base. You know her better than I do, so if you didn’t see anything—”

  “I guess she does look a little tired,” he admitted, taking a step closer, “but she always stays up too late, reading.”

  “This should be a good test of how she feels. Olive once told me that chocolate cake is her favorite.”

  Half an hour later, after Duke polished off three slices of the cake and two cups of decaf, he cleared his throat. “Well, darlin’,” he said to Olive, “what do you think? Is it time?”

  Bryce had never seen his aunt smile like that before. As he speculated an explanation for it, Duke cleared his throat again. “Son,” he began, “I’d like to ask for your aunt’s hand in marriage, and since you’re the man of the Stone family, seems only fittin’ and proper that I get your blessing first.”

  One look into Olive’s face was all it took to convince him the big cowboy would make her happy. Very happy. Taking her hand in his, Bryce winked. “You’ve been mom and dad and best friend to me for more years than I can remember. It was you who taught me to thread a needle and sew up holes in my uniform pockets, and long before that, you taught me how to bait a fish hook.” Giving her hand a gentle squeeze, he added, “You’ve spent a lifetime doing for others—mostly me—and I couldn’t love you more if you were my own mother.” A final squeeze and then, “So if marrying this Texan will make you happy, I’m all for it.”

  Bryce turned to Duke and held out his hand. “I’m sure you know what a prize you’re getting,” he said, smiling, “but if you ever forget it, even for a second, I’ll be right here to remind you.” It surprised him when his final words caught in his throat, when tears stung his eyes, and for a reason he couldn’t explain, Bryce made no effort to hide them. Across the table, Sam’s eyes glittered, too. That touched him almost as much as the look that passed between Olive and Duke.

  The cowboy lifted his coffee cup. “To the future!” he boomed.

  Olive, Sam, and Bryce clinked it with their own. “Aren’t we a bunch of softies,” Olive said, “all watery-eyed over the nuptials of a couple of geezers.”

  The comment inspired relieved laughter all around. And then Sam said, “You’re the type of woman who’ll never get old, Olive, so don’t let me hear you calling yourself a geezer ever again!”

  “Say there, young lady,” Duke piped up, “what about me? Don’t I get a ‘you’ll never be a geezer’ lecture, too?”

  “Duke,” Sam said, patting his hand, “soon as I’ve had the pleasure of getting to know you better, I’ll let you know.”

  Another gale of laughter filled the room, and Bryce felt the lump in his throat growing, because he couldn’t help but realize that the thing he’d always wished for as a boy—a family—had formed itself right before his eyes tonight.

  “So when’s the wedding?” Sam asked.

  “Two weeks from Saturday.” Olive sighed. “Nothing fancy, so we should be able to pull it off before we leave for Florida.”

  An overwhelming sense of loss enveloped Bryce. He’d left Olive plenty of times—to attend college, when he enlisted in the marines, for every tour of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan—but he’d always known he could find her, here in North Pole, to share his good news…and to talk him through the bad. “I’m gonna miss you,” Bryce choked out. “Guess I’ll have to sign up for one of those stupid frequent flier cards, so I can come visit you guys in Florida every couple months.”

  Grinning mischievously, Olive shook her head. “Don’t be silly, nephew. Florida is just our honeymoon destination. We’ll only be gone ten days.”

  “That’s right,” Duke added. “When we get back here, we’ll be the proud owners of The Duke and Duchess, formerly known as ‘that old fire trap’ down at the end of Santa Claus Lane.”

  It dawned on him, looking into his aunt’s happy face, that she’d been keeping a lot from him lately, and while it was a relief knowing she hadn’t decided to relocate, Bryce didn’t understand her reasons for all the secrecy. Had he turned into such an ogre that even his sweet, self-sacrificing aunt feared a stern lecture if she shared the details of her relationship with Duke?

  True to form, she seemed to have read his mind. For the next fifteen minutes, Olive and Duke explained how they’d met during the cruise, squeezed in weekend visits every chance they got, and filled the time in between with daily phone calls and emails. And all the while, it seemed to him that Sam had heard it all before. The fact that Olive had felt free to share the intimate details of her life with a virtual stranger rather than with him offered more proof that he needed to do some serious soul-searching if he hoped to zero in on the personality trait that made Olive see him as harsh and judgmental.

  He felt like a first-class heel—if heels came in classes—because he hadn’t been there for her the way she’d always been there for him. He’d told her about his every hope and shared every dream, and while she’d never been one to keep her opinions to herself, Olive made sure that he understood she loved him, unconditionally, no matter what.

  She’d warned him that Debbie wasn’t the girl God wanted him to spend his life with. And when things fell through, Olive hadn’t said, “I told you so!” If he’d been smart enough to take her advice, he would have been spared the heartache of knowing Debbie preferred life with an M-17 and combat boots to a future with him.

  If Bryce was honest with himself, “heartache” wasn’t the right word for what he’d felt after Debbie called off the engagement. He’d grown accustomed to the routines they’d developed, like sharing chow in the mess tent, watching the Movie of the Week together, and swapping paperback novels by John Grisham and Tom Clancy. Doing those things alone, after she’d made her feelings known, had bothered him mostly because it changed the order of things. And it had been Olive who’d pointed that out, too. The big Texan chose that moment to walk around to Olive’s side of the table. Down on one knee, he took her hand in his. “Darlin’,” he said, voice trembling, “will you make me the happiest man on planet Earth and do me the honor of saying, officially, that you’ll become my wife?”

  Bryce watched in amazement as the woman he believed was least likely to go all damp and leaky at a time like this threw herself into the cowboy’s arms and blubbered like a baby. As tears coursed down her chubby cheeks, Duke produced a tiny black velvet box that squealed when he lifted its lid.

  “Remember,” he said, holding it between his beefy thumb and forefinger, “if you don’t like it, we’ll get a different one.”

  Sniffling, Olive held out her hand. “Are you kidding?” she managed between sobs. “I loved it from the start, because you chose it for me.”

  Sam sniffled, too, as Duke slipped the ring onto Olive’s pudgy finger.

  “And now, finally, it’s there to stay,” Duke said.

  Bryce was deeply touched that Olive and Duke had orchestrated this repeat of the proposal scene for his benefit. Touched, yes—and humbled to know that his self-righteous behavior had been responsible for her secrecy in the first place.

  He wanted, more than anything right then, to let her know she had earned his unconditional love, too. So he got to his feet and, lifting his coffee cup, said, “To Olive, who’s not just my only living relative, but my best and closest friend, as well.” He broke the moment of intense eye contact when tears stung his eyes. Facing the Texan, he added, “And to Duke, who managed to plaster a smile on her face like none I’ve seen there before…and who’d better keep it there if he doesn’t want this marine to teach him a new drill
!” When the quiet chuckles died down, Bryce concluded with, “And to our Father in heaven, for putting two people from different parts of the country on the same boat in the middle of the Pacific, at the same dinner table, at the very moment He knew was right for them.”

  “Amen,” Sam whispered.

  “Amen!” Duke bellowed.

  One hand pressed to her chest, Olive nodded and mouthed a teary “Amen” through quivering lips.

  Bryce noticed the slight furrow that formed between Sam’s delicate brows as his aunt hid a gigantic yawn. She must have shared his thoughts, for she said, “Time for you two to head into the living room to finalize those wedding plans while Bryce and I clean up in here.”

  Thankfully, neither Duke nor Olive protested, and once they’d left the room, hand in hand, he followed Sam into the kitchen.

  She shoved both hands into the sudsy dishwater. “Ouch,” she cried almost immediately, pulling her hand out.

  Bryce grabbed her wrist. “Good grief,” he said, inspecting the bloody, jagged cut, “how’d you manage that?”

  Using her free hand, Sam plucked a steak knife from the water. “I must be losing it,” she said, shaking her head. “I usually save knives for last, just to prevent something like this from happening.”

  “Oh, man,” he interrupted. “I dropped the knives in there!” He tore half a dozen sheets of paper towel from the roller and wrapped them around the wound. “Don’t move. I’ll find some ointment and bandages and have you fixed up in no time.” Then he left the room before she had a chance to agree or object…or let her see how awful he felt, having been responsible for her injury.

  Neither Olive nor Duke seemed to notice him dart down the hall to fetch the first-aid supplies, and they didn’t quit staring into one another’s eyes when he sped back toward the kitchen, either. A strange sense of hopefulness settled over him, because if Olive and Duke could find their “happily ever after,” maybe he could, too.

  Someday.