Love Finds You in North Pole, Alaska

by Loree Lough

  “We might have…in September. But shades of green and gold are the norm. Once in a while, if you’re lucky, you’ll get a glimpse of red and yellow or purple and blue.”

  “Well, it’s amazing, positively amazing!” She sighed. “I hate to admit it, but I’m cold.”

  “So I noticed, icy nose,” he said, kissing her. “Want to head back?”

  “Guess we’d better. I have a group of school kids coming to the shop tomorrow. Field trip of sorts, so they can buy ornaments and whatnot as Christmas gifts.”

  “Did you hear there’s gonna be a TV crew in town tomorrow?”

  “Yeah” she said. “They’re supposed to film the field trip. And when I was at Dalman’s the other day, having coffee with Cora, I heard they’re filming the Santa Claus House and the Christmas museum, and if there’s time, they’ll even take a trip on the train. Exciting, huh?”

  Bryce held open his pickup’s passenger door. “Um, I guess.”

  “Not everybody in town shares your attitude, Mr. Scrooge.” With that, she closed the door.

  And as he slid in behind the wheel, he said, “Pardon me if my enthusiasm doesn’t runneth over.”

  “To each his own,” she said, giving him a playful jab to the shoulder. “You leave me no choice but to enjoy all these Christmas festivities enough for both of us.”

  They were home before she knew it, and Sam wondered aloud how productive she’d be in a few hours, with so little sleep.

  “You’re a buzzing ball of energy,” he told her. “If the electricity goes out tomorrow, the film crew can always plug into you and run their cameras for hours.”

  “Always the comedian.” Then, as an afterthought, Sam said, “Pity you can’t conjure a little of that attitude about Christmas.”

  He opened his mouth to protest, but Sam laid a finger over his lips, preventing it. “See you in the morning,” she said, popping a quick kiss to his lips. And hurrying into her own apartment, she waved over her shoulder. “Sweet dreams, Bryce!”

  “Oh, they’ll be sweet, all right, but only because you’re bound to be in them.”

  Sam handed the TV host a steaming mug of homemade cocoa topped off with whipped cream and a cherry. “You look frozen to the bone,” she told her. “Hopefully, this’ll warm you up.”

  Grinning, Melody Malone wrapped her mittened hands around it. “What are you, a mind reader?” she teased.

  Laughing, Sam handed a second mug to the cameraman.

  “John O’Toole,” he said. “Happy to meet you. And thanks for the cup o’ heat.”

  Sam grinned. “There’s plenty more where that came from. Think the rest of the crew might like a cup?”

  “No question in my mind. We’re Californians,” John said, “totally unaccustomed to this kind of cold.”

  Laughing, Sam said, “I’m from Maryland myself. This is my first winter here, and so far, it’s been a doozy.”

  “I assumed the place was covered in ice and snow pretty much all year.”

  “That’s what most people think. I got here in May, and believe it or not, by the middle of June, I was wishing my apartment had air conditioning.”

  “Maryland, eh, ” John said. “So what brought you to North Pole?”

  The memory of her breakup with Joey flashed in her head, followed by her brothers and parents chorusing, “You’re going where?”

  “Work brought me here, but the place and the people are magnetic. I can’t seem to tear myself away. I manage Rudolph’s Christmas Emporium,” she said, pointing at the storefront. “That guy over there, chatting with Melody in front of the Santa Claus House, is Bryce Stone, the owner.”

  John chuckled. “Is that patch for real?”

  “It is. Earned in Afghanistan.”

  “Well, if Tinsel Town ever revives cowboy westerns, he’s in like Flynn with an eye patch and a name like Bryce Stone!”

  It was a powerful name, Sam thought, watching him. But why not? He was a powerful man, and—

  “So do you think you’ll stay in North Pole?”

  Sam nodded. “Definitely.”

  “That’s no surprise. I heard how you turned that little store into a thriving business in just a couple of months.”

  “Who spilled the beans?”

  “Curt, the barber. Amazing how much that guy knows about this town…and everybody in it.” John stood and handed Sam his empty mug. “Well, I’d better get back over there,” he said. “Looks like Melody’s ready to start. What time does your field trip begin?”

  She glanced at the nearest clock…a red and green elf whose hammer moved up and down in time with the second hand. “Fifteen, twenty minutes. But I’m sure they won’t mind waiting. It isn’t every day they get a chance to be on a national TV show.”

  “Don’t worry,” John said, waving as his boots hit the snow-covered walk, “we’ll be on time. I’ll make sure of it.”

  As it turned out, John was a man of his word. Melody and the crew squeezed into Rudolph’s to film the kids as they shopped for their families’ Christmas gifts. Sam couldn’t help but wonder, as John’s camera panned the shelves, how her family would feel, finding out this way that she managed the place. Maybe Bill had let it slip, once he got back home, that she’d been passed over for the chef’s job and taken this one to keep the wolf from the door. And maybe you should make a phone call, today, so they won’t be shocked when friends and neighbors call to say, ‘Hey, I saw your daughter on that house and garden channel!’ ”

  “That’s a wrap,” the director announced. “Have you lined things up with that guy at the Santa Claus House?” he asked Melody.

  “Only thing missing is you,” she said, grinning. Grabbing her fur parka, the host shrugged one arm into it, then the other. “I don’t know how you manage it, day after day, year after year,” she said to Sam. “Being Alaskan is…well, it’s cold, that’s what!”

  “I can’t say yet that I ‘manage it.’ This is my first winter here. I might not be cut out for it.”

  Melody gave Sam a quick once-over. “Oh, something tells me you’re gonna do just fine. In fact—”

  “She’s more than cut out for this life.”

  Everyone turned toward the deep, resonant voice. “Bryce,” Sam said, smiling. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “Long enough.” And as the TV crew and school kids filed out of the shop, he slipped his arms around her waist. “Promise me somethin’, will ya?”

  “Depends…”

  “Don’t ever go all Hollywood on me, okay?”

  Giggling, she said, “But I thought you liked your girls tall and willowy, blond and green-eyed.”

  His brow furrowed. “She has green eyes?”

  Sam gave his shoulder a playful slap. “Oh, please. The way you were staring at her during the interview, I’d think you could tell me how many eyelashes there are on each lid!”

  Bryce kissed her forehead, a long, lingering kiss that sent Sam’s heart into overdrive.

  “I guess she’s okay…in a too much makeup and hairspray kinda way.” And holding her at arm’s length, he added, “But she’s nowhere near as gorgeous as you.”

  “Aw, I bet you say that to all the—”

  A scream, followed closely by a ruckus outside, interrupted them, and they raced to the door. “Holy moley,” Bryce said, “somebody let the reindeer loose!”

  They ran to the Santa Claus House, where a small crowd had gathered around Melody, who lay flat on her back in the snow.

  “What happened?” Bryce asked.

  “She thought it would be cool to ‘interview’ the reindeer,” the shopkeeper explained. “I warned her they didn’t much cotton to all this noise and activity, but she said something about Snow White genes.”

  “Snow White—”

  “All animals love her,” Paul explained, rolling his eyes.

  The host scrambled to her feet and, giggling, asked Sam, “Any idea how to get reindeer poo out of fur?” But before Sam could answer, she said
to John, “You got that on film, I hope….”

  “Does Santa wear a red hat?”

  “Whew,” she said, fanning her face. “We’ll need to do a voice-over, but that’s gonna be a hoot for our viewers!”

  “Have the reindeer escaped before?” Sam asked Paul.

  “Couple times, but they’ll make their way back. They always do…eventually.”

  She glanced down the street, where a couple of them pawed the snowy ground in search of grass. Grinning, she nudged him with an elbow. “And if they don’t, will you have to round up a posse to herd ’em home?”

  “What bus did this tenderfooted Easterner ride into town?” he asked Bryce.

  “It wasn’t a bus,” Sam corrected, “it was a—”

  Thankfully, Paul and the others were too preoccupied with herding the animals back into their pen to notice when Bryce planted a big juicy kiss on her lips. “Promise me something else?” he asked.

  “What…?”

  “That you’ll never ever aim that big ugly RV of yours east again.”

  “If I survive the rest of the winter, you’re stuck with me.”

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  “Oh, Bryce, it’s absolutely beautiful!” Sam sat on the glossy seat of the rocking chair he’d made her.

  “There’s a message for you, burned into the underside of the seat.”

  Hopping up, she tilted the chair on its side and read aloud, “ ‘To Sam, my one and only, now and forever, Bryce.’ ” After returning the rocker to its upright position, she said, “It’s one of the best birthday gifts I’ve ever received.” Hugging him, she added, “Thanks, Bryce.”

  “Well, I had to do something extra special, considering I missed your actual birthday by a couple of months.”

  “You were a little preoccupied,” she admitted, “with Olive in the hospital and all.”

  “Still, I—”

  “Still nothing!” she interrupted. “What’s that old saying? ‘Better late than never’?” If only she could convince herself to adopt that viewpoint about his so-far-non-existent marriage proposal… “Your birthday is right around the corner, and we’ll get to celebrate that right on time.”

  His grin reminded her of the little boys who’d traipsed through Rudolph’s last week, eyes wide with wonderment as they chose gifts for their parents and siblings. “You’re okay with a triple-layer chocolate cake, aren’t you?” she asked.

  “Well, sure. Who wouldn’t be?” He hesitated and then added, “You’re not planning a whole big thing, I hope, ’cause I hate a fuss.”

  “Guess you’ll just have to wait until tonight,” she told him, grinning, “to find out just how big—or little—a fuss I’ve made.”

  “Not a party,” he said, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Please tell me it isn’t a party.”

  “Patience,” she said, “because in just a few hours, you’ll know for sure.”

  Wincing, he shook his head. “Samantha Sinclair, what am I gonna do with you?”

  Ask me to marry you, you big oaf, she thought, that’s what!

  “You’d better get baking,” he said, kissing each corner of her mouth, “because you woke a sleeping monster with all your chocolate cake talk.”

  When she didn’t react, Bryce turned her around, lifted her off her feet, and deposited her on the next step up from the landing. “I wasn’t kidding, woman,” he added, his voice deepening an octave. “Go. Now. Kitchen.”

  He clapped his hands as she raced up the stairs, giggling like a giddy child. Oh, she’d bake him a cake, all right. And wouldn’t he be surprised when he bit into her very special present to him!

  As the cake baked, Sam tidied her apartment, showered, and spent far more time than normal trying to figure out what to wear to their private birthday dinner.

  She did her best to set a pretty table, considering how few of the dishes matched, but Sam wasn’t worried about his reaction to it. One of the best things about growing up in a houseful of boys was knowing they didn’t give a whit about things like that…if they noticed them at all.

  It was far more important to take care while frosting the cake, so she’d know which slice held his special surprise. Every time she imagined how he’d look once his fork poked into the plastic bag, it was all she could do to keep from squealing. Part of her wished she’d prepared a simpler supper, one that would be over quickly, instead of soup and salad and rolls, all made from scratch, that would precede her Italian specialty, stuffed shells. He’d promised to knock off work by five so that he’d have time to shower and change for their dinner at six. In an hour, two at most, he’d have tangible proof of how much she loved him and what she was willing to sacrifice to prove it. Maybe with that knowledge tucked into his thick marine skull, he’d be inspired to pop the question.

  She looked at the cake. At the perfectly set table. At the coffeepot, all set and ready to go. “Well, a girl can dream,” she whispered. But rather than take chances, Sam headed for the living room and grabbed her Bible. What better way to pass these remaining minutes than by reading God’s word?

  Just as she’d expected, spending time with the Lord calmed her and hurried the hands of time. When at last she heard Bryce’s gentle knock on the other side of the kitchen door, her heart leaped into her throat. “Help me, Father,” she said, “not to spoil everything by blurting out his surprise….”

  Two hours later, when Bryce shoved himself away from the table, she nearly cried when he patted his belly and said, “I’m just way too full for dessert.”

  “But it’s your birthday,” she protested. “You have to at least have a bite of cake.” She didn’t wait for him to agree or disagree. Instead, Sam gathered up the supper dishes and stacked them in the sink. And because the kitchen hadn’t come equipped with dessert plates, she used saucers.

  “If I didn’t know better,” he said, chuckling as he watched her distribute them, “I’d say you were a dealer in Vegas in a former life.”

  Sam put the cake on the table and lit the fat candle in the middle of it. And with no fanfare, she launched into a super-speedy rendition of the birthday song. “Now make a wish,” she instructed.

  “I’m a little old for stuff like that, don’t you think?”

  “Humor me.”

  While he closed his eyes, Sam tapped a foot.

  “Happy now?” he asked.

  “I will be, soon as you blow out the candle—”

  “Sam…”

  “—so your wish will come true.”

  And even before the wisp of smoke curled toward the ceiling, she’d carved off an enormous wedge of cake and plopped it onto his plate.

  “Good grief,” he sputtered, opening them, “have you mistaken me for the Jolly Green Giant?” Pointing, he said, “Surely you don’t think I can eat that whole—”

  “Humor me,” she said again.

  He picked up his fork and used it as a pointer. “You’re behaving mighty strangely tonight. More so than usual. It had better not mean there’s a crowd of well-wishers on their way over here to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ slowly…”

  “You said no fanfare, so you have my word. No party.”

  “Well, good,” he said, slicing into the wedge, “because I—”

  Sam held her breath.

  “Hey…there’s something…there’s plastic in my cake!” Bryce speared it with the tines of his fork. “What…? Did you put this in there?” he asked, holding it above the plate.

  Sam nodded.

  “Why in the world would you shove a sandwich bag into the middle of my birthday cake?” he asked, snickering.

  “You’ll see.”

  He gave it a closer look. “Hey, wait a minute. There’s something in it….”

  Sam’s heart was pounding so hard, she thought surely it would explode. How long did it take a guy to open a zipper bag and withdraw a little envelope? she wondered, grabbing a wet dishcloth so he could wipe fudge icing from his fingers. Would he hate the gift? Love it? Think it was too much, to
o soon in their relationship? A ghastly thought made the breath catch in her throat. What if he saw it as an insult…like she thought he wasn’t capable of—

  “Samantha Sinclair!” he blurted, interrupting her worries, “is this what I think it is?”

  She gulped. “What do you think it is?”

  “A check.” He looked from the slip of paper to her face and back again. “A big fat check.” Without wiping his fingers, he grabbed her hand. “Sam, I don’t get it. What’s it—”

  “It’s so you can buy all the machines and tools you’ll need to open your furniture shop.” She reached behind her and gave him the file folder where she’d stored orders for end tables, rocking chairs, chifforobes, taken while waiting on customers at Rudolph’s.

  He looked inside and figured out instantly what it held. He picked up the check again, and this time looked from it to the thin stack of orders. “Where did you get this much money?”

  Shrugging, she smiled. “I sold the RV.”

  “But…I thought you had plans for that money…to open a little catering business…”

  “My goodness, that aunt of yours had a memory like an elephant! I only mentioned in passing, while we were unpacking a shipment, that someday I’d like to put my cooking skills to use. You know, just for side money.” She shrugged again. “I can’t believe she remembered it, let alone that she shared it with you!”

  “So why am I holding this check, if that was supposed to fund your dream?”

  Sam got to her feet, waved both hands as a signal for him to scoot his chair back, and when he did, she plopped onto his lap. “It wasn’t a dream, I was just, you know, thinking out loud. Olive had just finished telling me about Duke and all their plans, and then she asked me if I had any silly dreams like that.”

  He put his forefinger on the check. “But now that you have the money…”

  “I don’t want a catering business, silly, I want you to have your carpentry shop. Don’t you get it?”

  Frowning and smiling at the same time, Bryce said, “No, I guess I don’t. Why would you sacrifice your dream to give me mine?”

  She bracketed his face with both hands. “Maybe,” she said, kissing his right cheek, then his left, “because I know your dream means a whole lot more to you than mine ever did to me.” She kissed his forehead, his chin, his lips. “And maybe, because I love you that much.”