Ava wrote her name at the top of the page, then began to tear it out of the coloring book.
“What are you doing?” Jo asked.
“Can we send this to my other nanna?”
“Nanna Carol?” Shane’s mother had moved to Maine to be closer to her sister last year, and though Ava only got to see her every few months, Jo tried to keep the relationship alive.
Ava nodded. “Nanna Carol doesn’t have any kids at Christmas. Santa probably doesn’t leave any toys under her tree.” She frowned. “That makes me sad.”
“I think Nanna Carol would love this picture. It’s late now, but we can call her tomorrow and see how she’s doing. And you know what? We can send her a little gift, too. Something she can put under her Christmas tree. And she can shake it and look at it every day, wondering what it is, until she opens it on Christmas morning.”
Ava’s eyes shone with her smile. “She would like that. Why don’t we see her on Christmas?”
“Because she lives far away now.” Of the many possible explanations, that was the easiest for Ava to understand. Jo wasn’t sure she’d ever be able to tell Ava that her grandmother found it difficult to look at her because she saw her dead son in those cornflower blue eyes.
“But she loves you,” Jo said with conviction, knowing that, despite Carol’s cold demeanor, she cared deeply about her granddaughter.
Jo would never forget the day she received the letter in the mail with a whopping check for nearly half a million dollars. “This is from Shane’s life insurance policy, through the Olympics,” Carol had written. “You’re a single mom now. I know how hard that is. And you’re going to need money to take care of Ava.”
“Nanna Carol is going to love this.” Jo smoothed the colored page and removed a manila envelope from the desk drawer. “And we’ll pick out a little gift for her tomorrow. But now, you need to brush your teeth and get to bed.”
Shortly after Ava was safely tucked in, there was a knock on the door. Jo pushed the curtain aside to see her brother Tommy standing there, a wooden sign in his arms.
“Ho, ho! I’ve got an early Christmas gift for you,” he said, his words forming white puffs in the cold, damp air.
“Come on in. Let’s see what you did this time.”
He stepped in and held the wooden placard up. “Nice, huh?”
It was a work of art.
COUSINS’ CHRISTMAS SHOP was scrolled in thick black letters outlined in shiny gold to make them pop. The first “C” leaned into a ridge of puffy snow, balanced by a fat snowman at the far right. The bottom of the sign was lined with dancing Christmas trees, while snowflakes scattered through the purple sky at the top. It was warm yet wintry, cute but tasteful.
“Tommy! How the hell did you pull this one off?”
“I didn’t. Sam made it.”
“Of course he did.” Jo should have recognized the animated trees from Sam’s doodles in high school, when he could make anything from a school bus to a possum dance at the end of his pencil.
“I was tinkering with the old sign in the garage, and Sam said he thought he could come up with something better. You like?”
“I love it!” She took the sign from him and danced it around. “Can you hang it for me tomorrow?”
“What a taskmaster,” he said. “I might be able to get over in the morning.”
“I was wondering what Sam was up to.” She leaned the sign against the wall. “You know, I haven’t heard from him since our Thanksgiving is Ovah celebration.”
“He’s keeping a low profile.”
“No profile is more like it.”
“Sam doesn’t like coming out. You know he got injured in Afghanistan.”
“He mentioned that. How bad is it?”
“Some burns and whatnot from a roadside bomb. Side of his head and neck are bad. Shoulder, too. He’s lost the hearing in his left ear, and it’s pretty mangled.”
She nodded. “I didn’t notice anything the other night, but then, it was dark in the garage.”
“I told him he’s lucky to be alive, but he says that’s debatable. Long story short, he thinks he looks like Frankenstein’s monster.”
“And because of that he doesn’t leave the house?”
“He avoids being seen. When he does go out, he wears one of those caps with the earflaps.”
“And where does he go? It’s not like anyone has seen him hanging at the bar in Woodstock Station or Dunkin’ Donuts.”
Tommy put his hands on his hips. “So you’ve got the spy network looking.”
“Maybe.”
“He comes down to the shop a lot. And most nights he’s right over in Ma and Pops’s garage.” He nodded toward the big house across the lane. “Been working on the ’stang. I think he found my oil leak.”
“Sam was always good with mechanical stuff like that,” Jo said, though she was thinking that those nights she’d been stuck wondering about him, he was probably just a few yards away in her parents’ garage.
“He’s real smart. Do you know he was in the bomb squad for the army? Trained to find and dismantle explosives.”
“He’s smart, all right,” she said. Though the man didn’t have the common sense to pick up a phone and call, or to stay off a closed trail at Dare Mountain.
And yet, he’d made her a sign—a magnificent sign.
Jo wasn’t sure what to think ... though she sensed that her feelings had already run ahead without looking back.
The next morning, as soon as she dropped Ava at school, Jo steered toward Tommy’s shop, banking on Tommy’s word that Sam had been hanging there.
She wasn’t disappointed.
When she drove up, one garage bay door was open and Sam was one of three men who stood looking up at a car on the lift.
She parked her Jeep, suddenly self-conscious as the three men turned to her.
“’Morning, Jo.” Chuck Arlan, the mechanic, nodded.
“Good morning,” she said.
“Tell me you brought donuts,” Tommy said.
“I brought my Jeep for an oil change,” she said, hoping Tommy wouldn’t point out that it wasn’t due for one for another month yet. “Think you can handle it today?”
Although the question was meant for Tommy, her eyes went to Sam, who was watching her, his gray eyes intent beneath the brim of his cap.
Their eyes connected, and Jo went weak in the knees.
Oh, wow. Something wicked strong coursed between Sam and her. Although she wasn’t sure she liked being caught in a feeling so intense, there was no denying it existed. She swallowed hard, trying to track the conversation.
“Guess we can squeeze you in,” Tommy was saying. “Maybe if you promise to bring cookies when you pick it up this afternoon.”
“I think I could handle that.” Jo drew her eyes away from Sam, then lavished a second look at him. “Oh, and I wanted to thank you for the sign. It’s perfect for the shop.”
“No problem.” Sam nodded, his dark eyes tugging on her resolve to act normal in front of her brother and his mechanic. His eyes made her think of their embrace, the way she’d nestled against his chest, the way her body fit against his.
She could imagine them doing that again ... only the air around them would be warmer and they wouldn’t be bothered by wearing so many outdoor clothes and ...
“What time, Jo?” Tommy asked, knocking her out of her fantasy.
“Huh?”
“What time will you be back to pick up the car?”
“Oh. Four? No ... make that two, so I can pick up Ava from school.”
“You got it.” Tommy held out his hand, and she dropped the spare key in his palm.
“I’ll see you guys later,” she said, backing away. When she nearly bumped into her Jeep, she realized she’d better take the sign. Grabbing it from the backseat, she called another good-bye and was on her way, walking the four blocks to the store with the new sign tucked under one arm.
As she approached the charming two-story Tud
or that housed the bank, she remembered that they needed change for the shop. She stopped in and joined the line for the tellers, being careful not to whack Mr. Giordano, owner of GiGi’s Pizza, with the plywood placard.
“That’s a very beautiful sign. A new one for your shop?” he asked.
“It is. Hand-painted by a friend of mine.”
“Hmm.” He scratched the white whiskers on his chin. “He should make a business of it. I could use a new sign myself. What with the rain and snow and sun, the old one is so faded.”
“I’ll have Sam call you if you’re interested.”
“You do that.”
Jo changed a hundred dollars into small bills and was on her way out when Emma Mueller, the bank manager, emerged from one of the private cubicles.
“How are you, Emma?”
“I’m fine.” In boots, a tight wool skirt, and a fine knit sweater, Emma looked like she could have stepped out of the pages of a New England magazine. A few years older than Jo, Emma was never seen in public without a matching wardrobe and perfect makeup. “Just wondering if you’re ready to invest some of that money you’ve got sitting in your savings account. We can get you a much higher yield on it.”
“I’m not ready for anything risky yet,” Jo said. “That’s money for Ava when she gets older, so I don’t want to take a chance investing it.”
“I understand. If anything changes, you know where to find me.”
Jo smiled. “I do.”
“And what’s the painting you have there?” Emma asked.
Jo showed her the sign and explained how Sam Norwood had made it for the Christmas shop.
“It’s really charming. Makes me think that this building should have something like that. Wouldn’t it be wonderful if every merchant in this complex had a placard like that? A uniform look, though every sign would be unique and individual. And that artist is so creative ...”
“You know, Emma, that’s a good idea.”
A wicked good idea.
Chapter 8
He had it bad.
One visit from Jo, and the garage was no longer dark and gloomy. He didn’t want to bite Chuck’s head off every time the young mechanic dropped a wrench on the concrete floor. Tommy’s jokes actually seemed funny again, and the snowflakes twirling through the air made him smile.
Yeah, he had it bad.
Two o’clock couldn’t come soon enough.
“Hey, Sam!” When Tommy called, Sam closed the hood on the Jeep and ducked into the office, grateful for the distraction.
“Meet Nelson Dubinsky. He’s looking for someone who knows explosives. Could be right up your alley.”
“Sam Norwood.” Sam shook hands with Dubinsky, a lean man with creases at the edges of his serious gray eyes. From his buzzed hair and squared-away clothes, Sam suspected he was former military.
Dubinsky’s stern eyes swept over Sam quickly; he seemed satisfied with what he saw. “I’m looking for a munitions expert to supervise a local job. I hear you’ve got experience.”
“Twenty-first Infantry in Afghanistan. Mine fields were my specialty. I worked at identifying and defusing IEDs, too, but I’m thinking that I’m done with that business.”
The man nodded. “You from these parts, Sam?”
“I am. Grew up right here in Woodstock.”
“Do you remember where you were the night the Old Man of the Mountain fell?”
“Of course.” Sam thought of the rock face over at Franconia Notch, a fixture of his childhood. No one thought the huge face of the Old Man would ever come tumbling down. “That was a big deal around here. People were devastated. I think my mother cried.”
“I cried,” Tommy said from behind the counter. “Losing that old face was like losing family.”
“A lot of people in this state would agree with you,” Dubinsky said. “When you have an image on your state license plates and road signs, people get attached. It’s a point of pride. That’s why I’m here. I represent the foundation that wants to fund the re-creation of the Old Man.”
“Really.” Sam leaned against the counter.
“People are going to pay to rebuild it?” Tommy sounded dubious.
Dubinsky held his hands up. “It would be a monument. There’s no way we could rebuild it exactly.”
The Old Man of the Mountain ...
Sam stared off past the dingy window of Tommy’s office, and wondered what it would be like to be part of a project like that. Building something up, instead of blowing holes in the ground.
“I’d like to talk some more about your background.” Dubinsky held out a business card. “It sounds like you could be an effective part of our team.”
Sam looked at the card, shook his head. “You can save your card, sir. Not interested.”
“Is that so?” The older man rose from the chair. “That’s too bad.” He made a point of placing his card on the counter. “I’ll leave this here, just in case you change your mind.”
“I won’t.”
“I’ll be going, then. Gentlemen.”
Tommy lifted a hand. “Take it easy.” He watched as the man went out to his car. Once the car door slammed, he wheeled on Sam. “What the hell’s wrong with you? That’s not just a job, but the job of the century around here. Are you freakin’ crazy, Sam?”
“Probably.”
“Why would you not want to work for that man?” Sam folded his arms across his chest. “I got no problem with Mr. Dubinsky.”
“Is it about the explosives? Because I get that.”
Sam shook his head. “That’s just science and safety precautions. I can handle that.”
“Then come on, man!” Tommy spread his long arms wide. “What’s your problem?”
Sam shifted the ridiculous cap on his head, scratched under the earflap. Strange, but his hand still expected to find the lobe of his ear there. Instead, there was only a shiny knot of scar tissue.
“I got no answer,” Sam said quietly.
“What?” Tommy wasn’t backing down.
Sam shook his head. “Calm down, okay? As soon as I figure it all out, you’ll be the first to know.”
Tommy snorted. “Well, I’m keeping that guy’s card for you.” He shoved the card into the pocket of his coveralls and shuffled toward the door. “Excuse me, but I got an engine to flush.”
For the rest of the day, work was work. Sam helped Tommy figure out why an old Volvo kept stalling, and did a brake job. When they took a break for lunch and watched a basketball game on ESPN, Tommy fell to his knees over a tiebreaker and they high-fived and laughed. That was the thing about guys. No one expected you to put it all out there.
After lunch Tommy went to hang the new sign at Jo and Molly’s shop. When he returned, he had Jo with him, her cheeks pink and pretty and her hair smooth and shiny, like the girl in the shampoo commercial. Sam remembered how it felt, silky soft as it slid over the backs of his hands that night.
His left hand rose, his fingers tapping the flap of the cap. Everything was covered, at least for now.
“Have I got news for you!” Jo marched up to Sam and handed him a piece of white paper. “People love your sign. I told them it was handmade and now everyone wants one. The whole row of stores by the Christmas shop and all the businesses in the Tudor building around the corner. Isn’t it amazing?”
“What’s this?” he asked, scanning the list that included the pizza parlor, the Woodstock Inn, and the bank.
“It’s a list of signs to be made. Molly and I double-checked the spellings. We didn’t talk about money, but I floated the price of three hundred apiece, and no one even batted an eye!”
“That’s a lot of oil changes,” he said. And enough work to keep him in town for a few weeks. He didn’t mind the work, but he wasn’t so sure about the commitment. How long could he really stick around here, pining for Jo and knowing it was never going to happen?
“Ay-yeah. Pretty cool, huh?”
He nodded. “Pretty cool.” He wished he could sm
ile to reassure her, but the stoicism that had fallen over him left steel in his blood.
“And this is just the beginning. Once people see these, I bet all the shops on Main Street will be ordering new signs. It’ll add another level of quaintness to Woodstock, Sam. Thanks to you.”
He shook his head. “You’re the one, Jo. You work your magic on these people and they’ll sign up to watch submarine races.”
She laughed. “I don’t think so, but I’m psyched about this, Sam. This could be big for you. Huge.”
He scratched his jaw, not wanting to burst her bubble. “Could be.”
“Is the price okay? If you think it’s not enough, I’ll throw another number out there.”
“It’s fine. It’s generous.”
She squinted at him. “You sure?”
“Absolutely. I just wasn’t expecting anything like this.” She smiled. “I know. I love it when things fall together like this.” She stepped closer, demanding that he face her.
When their eyes met, the light of joy in her face just about killed him.
“Thanks, Jo,” he said quietly.
“You’re welcome.” She looked over her shoulder at the office. “I gotta run and pick up Ava. Tell Tommy I’ll settle with him later, okay?”
“Will do.” Sam watched as she drove off, even returned her wave. As the Jeep’s taillights disappeared down the street, he wondered what bad luck Jo Truman had fallen into that made her keep entangling herself with the wrong guy.
Chapter 9
“I love Christmas parties, Mommy,” Ava said as Jo led her by the hand toward the Woodstock Inn, where the white lights of the giant wreath gleamed beneath a dusting of snow.
Jo held back a grin. “I do, too, honey. But remember, this is a party for other people. Mommy is going to help serve the food, and you can help Nanna work the desk.”
Tonight the inn would be rocking with three Christmas parties and a wedding, on top of the regular dinner traffic in the dining room. Pops had called in reinforcements, as he put it, asking for family members to help out, even if just for a few hours. Molly had volunteered to handle the shop so that Jo could work as a server for a few hours.
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