Christmas in Destiny

by Toni Blake

  “Order the parts,” he said, “son.” Then walked away, out of the old-school small town garage, aptly called Mo’s.

  Shit. What was he gonna do now? The woman he’d stayed with last night had mentioned some local inn, but that sounded pricy for a man who was broke. And it was past lunchtime now, and he’d spotted a diner on town square when the tow truck had passed through on its way to Mo’s, but even a diner meal suddenly sounded like a luxury under the circumstances.

  Turning up his collar against the cold, he shoved his hands in his pockets and started walking the short distance back toward the square. He wasn’t sure what his plan was, but it seemed like the best move. And if he was going to get any useful advice, or pick up any short-term work, it probably wasn’t gonna be from Mo.

  As he approached town, he came across an old-style building with rocking chairs and a couple of barrels on a wide wooden porch with an awning. Though much of it was hidden by snow, he could see the wood was a sun-washed gray, and a large plaque with vintage lettering above the door told him it was the General Mercantile. An Open sign hung in the window, and it struck Shane that it might be an economical place to grab a snack—some beef jerky or peanuts or something.

  The inside of the store was as old-fashioned as the outside with candy jars on the counter and packaged food like he sought sold out of bushel baskets tilted on their sides. Cold drinks filled a cooler to the right, and near that rested a coffeemaker, hot chocolate machine, and a stack of paper cups. Spotting shelves that held mini cereal boxes and packaged donuts, and spying bags of rock salt near the door, he realized he’d just walked into the world’s quaintest convenience store.

  “Help ya, son?”

  The word son was much less grating coming from the old dude behind the wooden counter. The hefty man sported worn overalls over a flannel shirt and a thick white mustache. “Looking for a few snacks,” Shane said. Then pointed in the general direction of Mo’s because he was pretty sure anyone out on a day like this who didn’t live here was probably about to get asked more questions than about what he’d come to buy. “Had an accident passing through last night on my way to Miami. Looks like I’m stuck for a while until my truck is repaired.”

  “Reckon that explains your lack o’ gloves and a hat,” the old man concluded.

  Shane nodded and tried out the local lingo. “Reckon it does.”

  “Gloves on a rack over there.” The old man pointed.

  But gloves weren’t in Shane’s budget at the moment. Right now, even five or ten misspent dollars could come back to haunt him, and he could get by with cold hands for a while. Despite being headed for a much warmer destination, he’d had gloves when he’d left Montana, but he hadn’t been able to find them anywhere in his truck last night when it had really counted.

  “Thanks, but I’m good.” He shifted his gaze from the old fella to the bushel baskets, trying to decide what and how much to buy amid his sudden poverty. It wasn’t a completely foreign feeling—his life had held a lot of ups and downs in the money department—but damn, it was one he’d hoped to never feel again.

  “You just come from Mo’s?” the old man inquired.

  Shane nodded. “Yep.” And kept his eyes on the baskets. Jerky, peanut butter crackers, cookies, nuts.

  “Got a place to stay? I can call up to the Half Moon Inn if ya like. Sure they’d have a room for ya. There’s a couple decent motels over in Crestview, too, if that’s more your style.”

  The offer forced Shane’s hand, urged him to honesty. “Truth is, I’d sure as hell like a room, but I don’t have any way to pay. Not for as long as Mo says I’m gonna be here anyway.” He shook his head, looked back to the crackers. “This wasn’t part of my plan.”

  “What is it they say? God laughs when we make plans?” Then the old man held out his hand. “Name’s Willie Hoskins. But most folks around here call me Grampy.”

  Being in no position to decline a little hospitality, Shane stepped up to the counter and shook it. “Shane Dalton,” he introduced himself, then felt the need to explain a little more. “I’m headed for a new job, but short on cash right now.”

  “Happens,” the man called Grampy acknowledged with a short nod that put Shane at ease. Then he squinted a little as he eyed Shane, like he was thinking pretty hard about something. “What line o’ work ya in?”

  Good question, actually. “Need a guy who knows his way around cars and parts,” Donnie V. had told him on the phone. “And who’ll do whatever I need him to do.” Maybe Shane should have asked for more details, but he hadn’t. Because he needed that fresh start—and the big money that would come with it. And in addition to doing body work, Shane had spent most of his teenage years taking cars apart and putting them back together again, so whatever this job was, he was qualified.

  To the man behind the counter he replied, “Body work mostly. But I’ve got a little experience at a lot of things—little mechanical, little construction, little electrical.”

  Grampy gave his aging head a tilt. “You opposed to some heavy liftin’?”

  Shane stood up a bit straighter, opened his eyes a little wider. Was the man asking for help with something? Or offering him a job? “Nope,” Shane said. “Why do you ask?”

  “We’ve had us a bit of a catastrophe here in town with that storm blowin’ through last night. Collapsed the roof on a church up the road a piece, and did the same at our community buildin’. Worse yet, we’ve got us a wedding comin’ up on Christmas Eve at the church with the reception to follow at the community buildin’. Couldn’ta been worse luck for the happy couple. A double whammy.”

  Shane didn’t want to be rude, but he still wasn’t sure what the old guy was asking. “That’s a shame, but . . . what’s it got to do with me?”

  It surprised him when the question turned Willie—or Grampy—Hoskins’ mouth up into a wide grin beneath his mustache. “I’ve been known to ramble a bit in my speech from time to time, so I can appreciate a fella who gets to the point.” Then he looked upward, and just when Shane feared he was about to get some sort of sermon about Heaven, Grampy said, “I got a couple empty rooms above the store. Ain’t much—a fold-out couch, a bathroom, and a fridge that worked last time I plugged it in. Used to stay up there on occasion in the wintertime, back before we had decent snow removal, when I didn’t want to close the store. It ain’t the Hilton, but I’d be willin’ to let ya stay as long as ya need. And be grateful if in return you’d be willin’ to pitch in on the clean-up efforts in our damaged buildin’s.” Grampy shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “Whata ya say? Interested?”

  Shane didn’t think it mattered much whether or not he was interested—the way he saw it, he had no choice. And he didn’t believe much in miracles, the Christmas kind or otherwise, but this seemed pretty close.

  “It’s a deal,” Shane said.

  Candice’s heart broke as she walked into the grand old church to see the damage the next day. Pieces of roofing, plaster, wood, and other debris peeked and poked from beneath the snow that had caused the mess, all lying scattered across the pews and altar. A glance up revealed a blue winter sky dotted with white puffy clouds—it felt surreal seeing a beautiful day from inside the church, bits of broken roof and ceiling hanging down from around the view like stalactites. “This is awful,” she murmured.

  Jenny Brody stood beside her, taking in the damage, and let out a sigh of agreement.

  “How do we begin?” Candice asked softly. The task of fixing this felt even more overwhelming now that she’d seen it.

  “For starters, the guys are going to try to cover the roof with plastic tarps for now until the insurance adjuster arrives. Mick, Lucky, and Duke have taken charge of that part.” Lucky Romo was Mick’s longtime buddy and Candice’s cousin-in-law—a big, burly biker whose wild ways her cousin Tessa had succeeded in taming. His best friend, Duke, lived with Lucky’s sister, the beautiful Anna Romo, and together they ran the Half Moon Inn.

  “After it’s co
vered, we’ll all dive in and start cleaning the place out and see how bad the pews and carpet and pulpit are,” Jenny went on. “One step at a time after that, I suppose. The community building should be a little easier. No carpet or upholstery there to be damaged—just the tables and linoleum floors. Mick and the guys are going to cover the roof there, too.”

  Still, Candice could only shake her head. “How did this even happen? I mean, I know the community building’s roof is flat and that snow could weigh it down and collapse it, but this one isn’t—at all.” It was a typical arched, gabled roof which had—until the night before last—been held up by large beams.

  “Mick said they think one of the beams was weak or damaged and gave way.”

  Candice pulled her eyes from the rubble and looked at Jenny. “How are Anita and your dad dealing with it?”

  Jenny sighed and attempted a smile that didn’t quite make it to her eyes. “Well, Dad is taking it in stride. He wasn’t that excited about a big wedding anyway—it was all for Anita, to make it special for her. So he told her he’d be happy to marry her in a cornfield or a barn—that the place didn’t matter. But Anita’s been planning this for a long time and wanted it to be perfect. Dad even suggested they elope, but Anita said the people here had become her family and it was important to share this with them. She doesn’t want to get married anyplace but Destiny.”

  A little more conversation revealed that Jenny and Mick’s son was with Anita today—she’d chosen to play grandma and take her mind off her wedding troubles rather than even see what shape the church was in. Meanwhile, some of the town leaders had gathered at Dolly’s Main Street Café to work out a plan and make a sign-up list for the various tasks that would need to be done, while even now people entered the back of the church and started moving furniture and such out of the large foyer.

  “We’re taking anything not damaged to the basement,” Rachel Farris-Romo announced when Candice and Jenny looked up. “To get it out of harm’s way.” Rachel was married to another Romo sibling, a cop named Mike, and had clearly taken charge of some of the operation. Candice had attended their wedding in this very church. “Feel free to grab anything not nailed down, including stuff hanging on the walls.”

  Together, Candice and Jenny eyed the weekly attendance plaque and a few paintings on a far wall, then made their way toward them around the back pews where less debris lay.

  “But we have to remember,” Jenny said, continuing their conversation as they went, “it’s Christmas. We’ll have to find somewhere else to have the town party, and despite all this, we have to keep our traditions in place.” Then she stopped to look at Candice. “That reminds me, you’re still coming to the cookie exchange at Edna’s tomorrow, right?”

  The truth was, with all the excitement, Candice had nearly forgotten about the invitation to the ladies’ party at Edna Farris’s farmhouse, one of the many little ways she’d been included by Jenny and Tessa’s circle of friends. And part of her thought it would feel pretty frivolous to rush home and start baking cookies right now, but she supposed Jenny was right—they couldn’t forsake Christmas altogether.

  “Of course,” she said. “I’ll be there—with sleigh bells on.”

  Jenny smiled—but then got serious. “And hey, I almost forgot, but Mick told me about your visitor the other night. And that he insisted you call us if anything like that ever happens again. You will, right?”

  Candice nodded.

  And Jenny leaned closer. “Sounded kinda scary.”

  “It was,” Candice confessed. “He was. I mean, sort of. Even though he was at least nice enough to chase down Frosty when he ran out into the snow.”

  She left out the part about him also being kind of hot. Because that would just make it sound confusing. And it had been a little confusing to think he was hot and also be afraid of him. So she was just glad it was over.

  She wondered vaguely if her hot stranger had reached Miami by now, but then resolved not to think about him anymore. Or the undeniable awareness she’d experienced in certain moments with him.

  Candice removed the large wooden plaque from the wall, and Jenny a religious painting, and they headed back toward the foyer, which led to the basement stairs. They ended up in a line of people, some carrying stuff down, others coming back up for more.

  She found it more challenging than anticipated to haul the sizable slab of wood down the steps—she could barely see around it. And when she reached the bottom, she turned a corner—and plowed right into someone.

  “Ow!” said a deep voice.

  “Oh!” She drew up short, the awkward plaque still in her grasp—then peered across the top of it to see who she’d collided with.

  The blue-eyed man on the other side met her gaze, a lock of dark hair dipping over his forehead.

  “Oh God,” she murmured.

  “Nice to see you, too, Candy Cane.”

  Four

  “You look at me as if you didn’t know me.”

  Mary Hatch, It’s a Wonderful Life

  One dark eyebrow arched upward. “But are you supposed to take God’s name in vain in a church?” he asked. “You must hate me even more than I thought.”

  Candice blinked. Twice.

  And Jenny stood at the bottom of the stairs now, too, looking confused. “Um, do you two know each other?”

  Candice whispered through gritted teeth in Jenny’s direction, as quietly as she could, “Scary stranger.” Then glanced back and forth between them, realizing . . . “Do you two know each other?”

  “Mick introduced us a couple of hours ago,” Jenny said. “Shane’s going to help out with the cleanup.”

  Candice darted her eyes back to Shane Dalton overtop the attendance plaque.

  “Truck parts on order. Not lookin’ good for my green Christmas,” he said, answering her unasked question matter-of-factly. Then eyed her critically. “You seem a little shaken up there, Candy—let me take that for you.”

  And he smoothly lifted the wooden plaque from her arms, his hands brushing over hers as he did, sending yet another brisk flutter of awareness through her when she least expected it. Oh dear. Oh my. Sensation—just from the brief touch—whooshed up into her breasts and down into her panties. This was so not what she needed in her life.

  “Um, um . . .” she sputtered as Shane Dalton walked away with the plaque, leaning it against a basement wall. She took in his back, his shoulder blades through his T-shirt, his butt through his jeans. All were . . . too pleasing to look at.

  “Shane’s the guy who wrecked outside your house?” Jenny whispered with wide eyes.

  Which Candice returned. “Yes.”

  “He doesn’t seem so scary,” Jenny said.

  Candice lowered her chin. “Easy for you to say. He wasn’t at your door in the middle of the night.”

  “Just maybe a little rough around the edges,” Jenny added. “Like Mick was when we first met. And he turned out not to be scary.”

  Now Candice flicked her neighbor a sideways glance. This comparison explained a lot. Jenny thought all guys who seemed a little rough were really harmless underneath—because she’d tamed one of them. Just like Tessa had tamed Lucky and Anna had tamed Duke. But it wasn’t that simple. Not every tough guy was tamable. She’d found that out the hard way once upon a time. And it had changed her life.

  But she chose not to reply because her thoughts would sound paranoid—and they didn’t matter anyway. Shane Dalton wouldn’t be here long, after all. She tried to shift the conversation in a slightly different direction and also get some practical information. “Do you know where he’s staying while he’s here? At the inn on Half Moon Hill?”

  “No, apparently in the rooms above the General Mercantile—Grampy Hoskins offered them up if he’d help out here.”

  Candice nodded, absorbing the information. She wished he’d chosen the Half Moon Inn instead—it was farther away, both from town and from her house.

  “So he expects to be here until Christmas?
”

  Jenny shrugged. “I think that part is pretty iffy—dependent on repairs.”

  Another nod from Candice—as her scary stranger tossed a quick glance her way while passing back by and heading up the stairs. She’d thought maybe he’d stop and say something more. But she was glad he didn’t. At least she thought she was glad. Her heart beat a little harder in her chest just from his nearness.

  And that brought about a decision. “Well, if I’m expected to have a big batch of cookies ready by tomorrow, I should probably go home and start working on them.” Then she wiped her hands together to remove any dust and indicate she was done here.

  Jenny nodded, smiled. “Okay—see you tomorrow then?” She probably knew Candice’s departure was about more than cookies yet was too nice to say it, which suited Candice fine. There were actually upsides to not being in someone’s inner, inner circle, in someone’s deepest confidence.

  “Like I said, wearing sleigh bells.” Candice finished with a forced smile of her own, then walked up the stairs and out the church doors without seeing Shane Dalton again. Even though a part of her almost wanted to. Because of his back and butt being nice to look at. Or maybe it was the brightness of those blue eyes, the way they contrasted with the darker parts of him—his hair, the rough stubble on his jaw. Or maybe it was that strange feeling she experienced just being around him—that awareness. A certain pull.

  Attraction. That’s what it was. Plain and simple. Attraction.

  Maybe it was easier to admit that to herself now that they weren’t alone together in an uncomfortable situation that made her wary, now that people she knew thought he wasn’t an awful guy.