“Sam Norwood.” The man’s steely eyes didn’t miss a beat.
“You remembered my name.”
“Your friend refreshed my memory.” He nodded toward the shop, where Tommy stood in the doorway, talking on a cell phone. Seeing the man, Tommy gave a hesitant salute.
“I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
“Nelson Dubinsky.”
“And you’re working on the Old Man Monument.”
“Right. I was about to extend an offer to a munitions expert from the Big Dig when I got an application that topped all. An application for you, Norwood.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Seems Thomas Truman has been working behind your back—with your mother, no less.” He pointed a thumb toward his car. “I’ve got an application in there that shows you to be the perfect candidate for my project. The question is, do you want the job?”
Sam found it hard to believe that Tommy had the acumen to pull together such a feat, or that his mother cared enough to dig through his records and find all the crap that a job like this would ask for.
“I suppose they forged my signature, too?”
“The online application spared them that crime, though I don’t appreciate being involved in their little scheme. My crew is geared up to start with planning at the end of February. We’ll break ground after the spring thaw in March. Do you want to be part of the team, Norwood?”
Sam did.
He’d always wanted to build something that lasted, something that would stand long after he was gone, and few things in these parts were more beloved than was the Old Man of the Mountain.
But he wasn’t sure he was ready to commit to staying in Woodstock. If things went south with Jo, life here would be unbearable.
“I didn’t even know I’d been put in for the job,” Sam said. “To be honest, it’s a plum, but I’m not sure I’ll still be here after Christmas.”
Dubinsky squinted. “Got plans?”
“I’m just not sure my roots are strong enough to keep me here.” Sam looked the man squarely in the eyes. “I’d like your job, but I can’t commit right now. I’ll know more after the holidays, but I understand if you can’t wait.”
Frowning, Dubinsky put his hands on his narrow hips. “I appreciate your honesty, but damned if you aren’t a cagey bastard.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Haven’t we all.” Dubinsky turned to his car, then paused with his hand on the door. “Here’s what I’ll do. If I haven’t heard from you by January fifteenth, I’ll hire on my guy from the Big Dig. January fifteenth. If you want the job, call me before then.” He extended a business card. “Fair enough, son?”
The light in the man’s eyes had warmed.
“Thank you, sir.” Sam took the card and shook the man’s hand. “I appreciate your kindness.”
“Bah ...” Dubinsky waved him off. “You just call me by the fifteenth. Have a good Christmas.”
Sam nodded, gooseflesh forming on the back of his neck as he recalled his father, who had died of a heart attack when Sam was twelve. No one had called Sam “son” since then. “Yes, sir.”
As Dubinsky drove off, Sam realized this would be the Christmas that changed everything ... for better or worse. If Jo could accept him, he’d have a life here and a job and a family.
If not, he’d heard there was work up in Alaska.
Chapter 12
December twenty-third, the day before Christmas Eve, Jo strolled down an aisle of sparkling trees in the store, savoring the sights, sounds, and scents of Christmas. She loved the last few days before Christmas: the excitement of the kids, the festive lights, the generosity of people in town, as evidenced by the overflowing boxes of food in the bank lobby. These were her favorite days of the year.
“O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” was playing, a version thick with brass trumpets that reminded her to stay on track for Christmas. When she wanted to get lost in the trappings, she reminded herself that it was a celebration of the Savior’s birth, the promise of salvation for all mankind. Dad always told everyone that love is the center of the celebration.
Her only regret was that she wouldn’t be spending much of the next few days with Sam. Christmas Eve was out, with all hands necessary to help out at the inn, and then the family tradition of midnight mass. She was hoping that she and Sam could get together Christmas night, after the family celebration. A brief snuggle in the glow of Tommy’s Christmas lights in the garage would make the perfect ending for her Christmas.
Over at the counter, Molly was working with a customer, so Jo allowed herself a moment to bask in the glittering lights and ornaments. She thought of last night, the string of kisses that had ended their conversation; she pressed a finger to her lips. They’d seemed swollen with desire when she’d slipped out of the garage in a haze of passion. Sam had kissed her hard, with a fervor that said he wanted more.
She wanted it, too. It was something to look forward to in the new year, though she didn’t know how they would swing the privacy issue. She did know she would use protection. Super-duper protection this time. But where could they go to get away from the family and prying eyes?
The image of Sam filled her mind—his stormy gray eyes, the strong jaw that tended to scratch her with stubble, the long fingers that moved over her with such tenderness. Sam would think of something. She had never met a guy who possessed such patience with other people.
“Jo? Yo, Joanne Truman,” Molly called, grinning. “Get over here. Wow, for a minute there I thought we’d lost you to Christmasland or something.”
Shrugging off embarrassment, Jo straightened her sweater and joined her cousin at the counter. “Just a holiday daydream. What’s up?”
“Mrs. Porter is looking for some ornaments that kids can decorate at parties,” Molly said, gesturing to the woman in jeans and a red knit poncho.
“How old?” Jo asked. When Mrs. Porter said they were all over ten, Jo guided her to glitter glue and ribbon and helped her with her purchase.
As the woman left the shop, Molly danced into the open space in front of the counter and reenacted the scene.
“Okay, this is you, all wide-eyed and lovelorn. Really, Jo, I’ve never seen you like this, not even with Shane. Shane made his demands, but this guy Sam has bowled you over. You are just crazy in love with him, aren’t you?”
“Both.” Jo crossed her arms, hugging herself. “Crazy. And in love.”
“I can’t wait to meet him. Is he coming to Christmas dinner?”
“Of course not! I can’t have him around the family, Moll. You know it’s not healthy for Ava to be exposed to strange men her mother is dating.”
“He’s not a strange man, he’s Sam, and you like him a hell of a lot. Ava’s an easy sell. If you like him, she’s bound to like him, too.”
“Dr. Nora, that psychologist, says kids really suffer when a single parent brings a friend around. They might compete for attention or feel displaced. And when they do get attached to the boyfriend, it breaks their hearts when things don’t work out for the couple.”
“I know what Dr. Nora is getting at, but shit happens! You can’t live in a bubble, and neither can Ava.”
“I need to protect my child and let her know that I’m devoted to her.”
“And live like a nun?”
Jo picked up an ornament that had rolled off a nearby tree. “I can date, silly. I just can’t bring someone home or introduce him into our home life.”
“Well, that’s kind of useless.”
“That’s Dr. Nora’s advice, and I’m sticking to it.”
Molly hoisted herself onto the counter with a frown.
“That Dr. Nora has a bug up her ass. She’s probably sneaking male strippers into her bedroom while her kids are asleep.”
“Molly! Shut up!” Jo glanced around to see if anyone was listening.
“There’s no one else in here,” Molly said. “But that’s about to change. He
re comes trouble.” She jumped off the counter and made herself busy in the back room so that Jo would have to deal with the customer.
Who could be that bad? Jo wondered as the door bells jingled, and Clarice Diamond stepped in.
“Hello,” the elegant woman said, pausing in the doorway to brush snow from the shoulders of her cashmere coat. “Picturesque—but none of the songs ever mention what a sloppy mess it is.”
“Merry Christmas.” Jo tried not to let the animosity she felt, creep into her voice. “How’s the tree working out at Cascade House?”
“It’s perfect.” Clarice stepped in, slipping off rust leather gloves as smooth as butter. “It really helped to make the place more homey. Of course, we haven’t found a way to make the cooking any better, but I understand it’s hard to get fresh ingredients up here in the winter.”
Jo wanted to say that the owners of Cascade House were her friends and that Laura was one of the best cooks she knew, but she kept mum. Better to just take care of business and get Clarice Diamond out of here. “Can I help you find something?”
“I hope so. I’m sure you heard about Sid buying the inn.”
“Right. Looks like we’re going to be neighbors.”
“Oh? Oh—you mean with this shop across the street?” Clarice frowned. “This whole block will probably be swept up in Sid’s new spa.”
Although Clarice kept talking, Jo was stuck on her last words. So their little shop would be swept away, a tiny shell under the tsunami that was Sid Diamond. And Clarice didn’t understand how wrong that was? She had no sense of how it might hurt Jo and Molly to learn that their business was dispensable ... utterly disposable?
“Anyway, when Sid told me the Camdens were waiting until after Christmas to make their decision, I wanted to send them a little gift to remind them of this town. That snow globe you sold me came to mind, but my son loves it. Do you have another one I can send to Earl and Wendy?”
“Of course.” A sour knot lodged in Jo’s throat and stuck there as she went to the back room and found a snow globe wrapped in bubble wrap.
Molly touched her arm, her eyes wide with alarm, but Jo just nodded and returned to the counter.
“The snow globe of Woodstock, right?” Jo asked. She wanted to tell Clarice Diamond that Jo’s mother made these from ornaments that they special-ordered from Bavaria. And how Irene hand-painted the names of the shops, ever so tiny.
But she saved her breath, knowing the entrepreneur’s wife wouldn’t care. Besides, this time next year, the buildings depicted in the globe would be six feet under, all bulldozed over.
“That’s it,” Clarice nodded, removing a gold credit card from her slender wallet. “You’ll ship it for me? Actually, I don’t know their address down in Boca, but you can get it from the inn, can’t you? As I hear it, you’re all interrelated.”
“Forty dollars extra for shipping,” Jo said, doubling the usual fee.
“Not a problem.”
As Jo processed the credit card transaction, the volume of the music rose—Molly at work. Jo bit her lower lip, noting that Clarice did not seem to appreciate the fine musical stylings of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.”
When the woman had left, Molly freaked.
“What the hell? I think Scrooge has been reincarnated!” Molly shouted.
“They’re going to bulldoze our shop,” Jo said, stunned.
Molly went to the display window and peered out. “Did you hear the crack about all of us being related? She made it sound like a scene from Deliverance!”
“I can’t believe this is really happening.” Jo looked at the snow globe of her beloved Woodstock and bit her lower lip. “They can’t come in and ruin our little town.”
“That woman is loony tunes,” Molly said emphatically. “I say we don’t ever let her in the shop again. Next time, we lock the door and duck. We can’t let her ruin our Christmas.”
“It’s not just about Christmas,” Jo said, peering at the miniature versions of the Christmas shop and the Woodstock Inn inside the snow globe. “She’s going to ruin everything, she and her husband. They’re going to ruin our lives.”
Molly shook her head. “Much as I long to stray from the homeland, I’m starting to get this whole thing. I don’t want to come home from Boston and find some resort with a golf course and hot tubs sitting where my parents’ home used to be.”
“And that’s exactly what they plan to do.”
“So we have to figure out a way to stop them. Have your parents made their offer on the inn yet?”
“They’re waiting to get a loan approved from the bank.”
“Well, somebody better call Emma down at the bank and have her crunch some numbers fast, before they take a wrecking ball to Main Street.”
“Mum’s working the desk at the inn today.” Jo grabbed her coat from under the counter. “I’m going over to have a chat. Maybe we can light some fires under people at the bank.” As the door bells jangled, she turned back to her cousin. “Sorry to stick you with minding the shop ...”
“Just go ... go!” Molly waved her off.
Jo held her coat closed, blinking against the falling snow as she crossed the street to the inn. “Proud old girl,” she said, wondering how anyone could think of tearing down the majestic white building with its gables and wraparound porch, its white picket fence, old stonework, and towering pines. Sid Diamond had found success, but the man was blind to true beauty in this world.
The minute she walked into the lobby of the inn, Jo sensed that something was up. Was something wrong with her eyes, or were there small pink dots everywhere? And what was that floating from the old chandelier in the lobby?
Peering up at the grand light fixture, she moved closer, across the old Chinese carpet. A tag dangled from the chandelier. FOR SALE, it read. ASK AT THE DESK ABOUT MY PRICE.
“What?” Squinting, she swung around to the grandfather clock, where a sign read: FOR SALE. TAKE ME HOME.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jo tromped over to the mantel, which apparently was on the market for a steal at a thousand dollars. She suspected that if the mantel were removed, the entire wall would come tumbling down, but maybe that was the goal of the person selling the inn off. Demolition.
“Hey, Mum. What’s the deal with the price tags?” She crossed the lobby to the main desk, but the seat behind the elaborate wood grillwork atop the marble counter was empty. “Anybody here?” It was not like her mother to leave the desk unattended on her watch.
“Oh, Jo. Thank goodness it’s you, sweetie.” Her mother’s voice sounded thick and husky as she emerged from the cubby in the back. Irene Truman had been crying, something Jo did not remember ever witnessing before. Her face was drained of color and she pressed a gob of tissues to her red eyes. “I’m so embarrassed ...”
“Mum, are you okay?” In an instant, Jo was behind the desk, helping her mother to a chair.
“I’ll be fine. Not to worry, dear. It’s just bad news. I need a few minutes to pull myself together.”
“What?” Jo bent down beside her mother.
“I just got a call from Emma Mueller, and the bank has ... has denied our loan.” Irene’s voice quavered at the last words.
“Oh, no. No, no.” Jo touched her mother’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Mum.”
“It’s not the end of the world. In fact, your father and I have a plan B, which we decided on in advance, and he’s already been on the phone, putting it into action.” Irene sniffed. “We’ve put the house up for sale.”
“What? Mum, you can’t—”
Irene held up a hand to stave off Jo’s objections. “I know it will be hard on all of us. We’ve had such a good run there, and it’s always been your home. But the house on Bull Moose Road will fetch a small fortune. Half a million dollars, that’s what Darlene Clark says. She’s Larry Clark’s daughter; got her Realtor’s license now.”
Jo didn’t know Darlene, but Larry Clark Realty was an institution in Woodstock.
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“The money from the sale of the house, combined with our savings, will be enough to buy the inn outright. A cash sale.” She took a deep, calming breath. “I’ll bet Mister Sidney Diamond isn’t putting up that kind of cash.”
The breath drained from her body as Jo rose and pressed against the walnut-paneled wall behind her, trying to gain some sort of balance.
Everything was spiraling out of control. Her home, her town ... she pressed her clammy palms to the wall, trying to think of a way out of this box.
She held on tight as the old-fashioned phone jangled and Irene smoothed her collar over her blazer and picked it up.
“Yes, this is she. Oh, hello, Darlene. You do? Already? My, that was fast. Well, I’d be happy to show it today, but I’m working at the inn and I can’t get away. Three holiday parties today. But if they’re coming all the way from Concord, let me see if someone else can be there. Maybe one of the kids?”
She looked up, her eyes landing on Jo, assessing with that mixture of tenderness and prodding that mothers everywhere had perfected.
Knowing what was coming, Jo felt pinned against the wall.
“Jo, honey, Darlene’s got a buyer on the hook. Driving up from Concord. Would you be able to meet them at the house this afternoon? A Miss Amy Loman and her client. You could do it on your lunch hour from the shop.”
Helping to sell the house on Bull Moose was the last thing Jo wanted to do.
She had stuff to take care of. The Christmas shop would be crazy busy this afternoon, with Charlie Wilson playing Santa and lines of kids out the door.
She tried to decline, shake her head no. Instead, she glanced down at her mother, whose eyes were still red from crying, and nodded. “Sure, Mum. What time does Darlene want me there?”
Chapter 13
As Jo’s Jeep bounced over the hardpack of snow on the lane, she took her foot off the accelerator and stared at the red and black atrocity stuck between snow-covered trees in her parents’ yard.
Making Spirits Bright Page 27