Marrying Miss Kringle: Frost

by McConnell, Lucy

  With love,

  Her pen hovered over the letter. She’d almost signed it with her first name. She wrote “Miss Kringle” with a flourish. Rereading the letter, she was pleased to note that nothing she’d said was a lie. Stretching the truth had been second nature when trying to hide their relationship, but she didn’t want to do that anymore. She wanted things to be honest between them. As soon as her return home was secure, she’d confess everything.

  Later on that day, after Tim delivered the mail, Frost slipped her letter to Tannon in the stack she delivered to his desk. She pretended not to see his eyes light up at the same time he pretended not to be interested. She left him at his desk to read her words. Hopefully Tannon wouldn’t be disappointed to find out his perfect Miss Kringle was just Frost.

  Chapter 25

  The days blurred together as Tannon threw himself into helping Frost plan the light parade and, yes, even the company party. She didn’t do anything halfway. As soon as participation forms came in, she had a car full of supplies ready to deliver and included him and Brody as often as possible. Brody blossomed hauling boxes of lights and wreaths around town. He’d sing along with the music on the radio and could do an Elvis “Blue Christmas” imitation that had Frost in stitches every time.

  The floats he’d seen didn’t look like much in the light of day. Made from PVC piping wrapped in lights, they looked more like holiday skeletons than the wonder and awe Frost promised they’d turn out to be. “You need more imagination,” she scolded him playfully.

  He pulled her close and nuzzled his nose against her warm cheek. “I’ve got plenty of imagination.” He’d kissed her then, and she’d melted against him like Frosty the Snowman on a spring afternoon.

  It was a good thing they spent most of their evenings over the last week in town, because things at home were difficult at best. Dad was quiet most of the time. Tannon would almost say he was depressed, except that he didn’t have a sense of desperation about him—his mood was one of introspection.

  There was a commotion outside Tannon’s office, and he made his way around the desk to see what was going on. In the middle of the cubicles was his father, shaking hands with David from accounting. “It’s good to see you to.” He smiled, making his cheeks line deeply.

  Tannon blinked and then rubbed his eyes, thinking he could rub away the image, because he must be imagining his father at the mill. Dad said hello to a few more people on his way to Tannon. Frost got up to greet him. If she was surprised to see him, she didn’t let it show. Tannon’s ears were ringing as if a bomb had gone off in the building, so he didn’t hear what they said. The next thing he knew, he was leaning against the front of his desk as Frost updated Dad on the parade.

  “Sounds like you’ve got everything you need.”

  “Everything but a Grand Marshal.” Frost winked at Tannon.

  He shook his head. She wasn’t one to back away from the hard questions. He’d have to remember that about her.

  “Well, that’s what I’ve come to talk to you about. I’m flattered by the offer …”

  Tannon held his breath. If his Dad turned this down, it would be a final blow to their relationship and an admission that he couldn’t move past Tannon’s missing leg.

  “Can we make a slight change?”

  Frost folded one hand over the top of the other. “And what would that be?”

  “I’d like to co-marshal with my family.” He glanced at Tannon. “All of them. I’d like us all to ride in the car together. I think it’s time.”

  Frost leaned back, pleased. “I think we can make that change. If Tannon’s willing.”

  Tannon swallowed the emotion that clogged his throat. Trusting that his dad was sincere was harder than swallowing a ball of wrapping paper. “I’d like that.”

  Dad stuck out his hand. “I look forward to it.”

  Tannon took his hand, and they shook. Tannon was hit with the knowledge that he was taller than his dad. Didn’t men shrink as they got older? Or had it been that long since he and his dad had looked one another in the eye? What a travesty. Tannon let go and leaned back again. “What are your plans for the rest of the day?”

  “I have some shopping to do.” Dad made his way to the door. “I’ll see you later.”

  Tannon and Frost waved. Frost spun on her toes and looked up at him. “I thought he was going to say no. I mean, I was hoping he’d say yes, but I thought he came in here to turn me down so I couldn’t make a fuss.”

  Tannon laughed and put his hands on her shoulders, kneading lightly. “He surprised both of us, then.”

  She cocked her head and her hip. “But you’re still mad at him.”

  He dropped his hands. “What do you mean?”

  “I felt it, when you shook hands. You were holding back—you don’t trust him.”

  “Not quite.” Tannon made his way around the desk, not enjoying the fact that she could read him so well. “We have a long history to get over.”

  She hmmed. “Well, Christmas is good for healing wounded hearts.”

  He picked up a pen and tapped it against the desk. “You seem to think that Christmas is the answer to all our problems.”

  “Not all of them.” She headed for the door, her thin hips swaying. “Only the ones laughter, time together, and love can solve.”

  “Well, there you go,” he said after she’d cleared the doorway. She talked different than most people. He didn’t know many, besides pastors and priests, who talked about hearts and forgiveness and love like Frost did. The words were part of her everyday vocabulary. He wished she’d tell him she loved him.

  He pulled up his chair and took a seat. Was this love? Had he fallen for his assistant? Or was he repeating the past and lapping up attention from a pretty girl who would leave him? He didn’t want to think about Frost leaving. Yet, she’d talked about going home for Christmas. Maybe he would go with her. But she hadn’t asked. He blew out a breath.

  The crazy thing was, he didn’t even mind running the mill when she was around. The formerly drab office space had been brought to life by her decorations and unending optimism. There wasn’t a problem that couldn’t be solved when Frost was near. She saw challenges, not obstacles. And her cheer had spread. People talked over their cubicles now and still managed to get their work done. They’d decorated their spaces and brought in holiday-themed coffee mugs. As wonderful as all that was, it didn’t get him at home with Brody. Nor did it dispel the picketers out front. They’d gotten noticed on the local news, and the story had been carried as far away as Washington.

  He checked the calendar on his desktop. The representatives from The Winnipeg Paper Company would be here in one week. He had work to do if he was going to convince them to take over the mill. Putting his head down, he got to work.

  Chapter 26

  At the North Pole, Frost could sit for hours. And she would, plowing through letters as if they were mounds of chocolate and she’d been starving. But at the Bison Paper Mill, she hardly had a moment to spend in her chair.

  Instead of reading wonderful government letters and regulations, she was selected to accompany the representatives from The Winnipeg Paper Company a tour of the office. The five men looked like they’d come out of a copy machine with their navy pinstriped suites, white shirts, and red ties. They all had the same haircut and the same shiny shoes. The only one who stood out was Mr. Paul. He was broader in the chest and shoulders and walked two steps ahead of his entourage. There was no doubt who was in charge, because he wouldn’t let them forget.

  Alfred was the one conducting the tour. He’d worked for Bison for over twenty years and knew every inch of the operations. And, he managed to walk the fine line of giving a thorough tour without giving away trade secrets. Frost hadn’t even thought of such a thing; Tannon explained it to her and Brody the night before over bowls of broccoli and cheddar soup. At the rate they were exposing Brody to the mill and all things parade-planning, he’d be able to open his own business at thirteen.
He’d certainly understood the idea that someone would come for a tour with less-than-honest intentions.

  “If you don’t trust them, why are you letting them inside the mill?” Frost had asked.

  “It’s not that I don’t trust them at all; it’s that I don’t trust them completely.” Tannon handed Brody a napkin to wipe the soup off his chin. He did, setting his napkin in his lap like he’d been taught on another night when they’d eaten at Mrs. Grant’s Bakery. Mrs. Grant had thawed after Tannon and Frost kissed under the mistletoe, and she enjoyed teasing them about their shyness that first night—taking credit for the two of them being together as if her mistletoe was magic.

  “Trust isn’t something that comes in a measuring cup so you can serve the right amount,” Frost protested.

  Tannon blew on a spoonful of soup. “All I’m saying is that until they prove themselves trustworthy, we keep them at arm’s length.”

  “Like you did with me when we first met.” She bumped him.

  “In my defense, you were weird.”

  Frost giggled. “Oh, like you’re normal.”

  “Hey, just because I’m one-legged …”

  She smacked his arm. “That’s not what I mean and you know it.”

  His eyes filled with love so strong it was hard for her to look away. He’d been doing that a lot lately, and there were times when Frost lost herself in that look. It was hard not to when she felt his love on top of her love for him—like swimming in a chocolate fountain.

  She brought her attention away from the sweet memories of the night before and back to the boring, though necessary tour. They entered the gathering room, where the Christmas party would be held. She had just a few days left to finish decorating but wanted the final product to be a surprise. Grandma and Grandpa Kringle were all lined up to play Santa and Mrs. Claus—not a big stretch for the retired man in the red suit. They were going to blow the kids away! Grandpa could still pick a child’s name out of thin air, and his Naughty and Nice radar was as strong as ever.

  They were also bringing all the goodies Mom had promised. She had to bake in the family oven to stay out of Robyn’s way but promised a feast even the Whos would be proud of—minus the roast beast. The DJ’s corner was decked out with a large archway wrapped in pine boughs and red ribbons and lights. She’d turned it on last night and Tannon kissed her right there in the middle. She could only imagine the power surge that caused.

  “There seems to be a lot of Christmas cheer around town,” said Mr. Paul.

  “Thank you.” Frost went right ahead and took credit. The town was buzzing with plans for the light parade. A family had signed up to sell roasted almonds. Apparently, they used to do this every year to raise holiday money and were excited to pull their equipment out of storage. Hopefully it all worked well and the street wouldn’t smell like burnt nuts.

  That was his last name: Paul. Frost knew there were a few Pauls in Canada, but she hadn’t gotten a letter from that last name in a while. She’d checked Mr. Paul’s ring finger and found it bare. He’d winked at her, and she’d been mortified to think he thought she was checking him out. She’d put distance between them, not wanting to explain why she wasn’t interested. The whole thing was uncomfortable at best.

  Mr. Paul laughed like she’d said something truly funny. “And I thought Canadians were Christmas crazy.”

  Frost painted on a smile. “It just goes to show you that Elderberry isn’t that far from home for you.”

  “Tell me, Ms. Cratchit—” Mr. Paul went on, but Frost cringed at the name. Tannon hadn’t called her that in weeks, and when he’d introduced her to the group using a fake name, guilt plagued her conscience.

  “Are you planning to stay with the mill when it’s sold?” He glanced over her red-and-white chevron blouse and matching red pencil skirt. She wore a green belt and matching shoes.

  “I’m Mr. Cebu’s assistant. I go where he goes.”

  “Pity.” He looked away, clearly put off by her answer.

  Alfred finished up the tour. Frost acted as though she hadn’t heard Mr. Paul’s comment. “We have a light lunch ready for you in Mr. Cebu’s office, if you’d like to follow me.”

  She motioned for them to follow and tried not to shiver at the feeling of Mr. Paul’s eyes on her assets. Stella would know just how to put him in his place. Frost closed her eyes and tried to channel her sister. Nothing came to mind, and she silently berated Stella for letting her down. Maybe she should have gone to a club or two when invited so she could have seen Stella in action instead of hearing the stories later.

  With six of them in the elevator, personal space was hard to come by. Still, Frost pulled into the corner, trying to avoid Mr. Paul. He leaned close and said, “You smell delectable.”

  “Scented lotion,” she offered without taking her eyes off the numbers slowly lighting up in succession above their heads.

  He leaned over so his nose was almost touching her neck and breathed deeply. “It’s intoxicating.”

  Frost’s skin crawled with the feelings she was getting off of Mr. Paul; they were lusty and like tiny spiders all over her skin. She glanced around, hoping one of his minions would step in, but they were politely ignoring the exchange. The doors whooshed open and she bolted for the safety of the cubicles. “I’ll send a link to your assistant. Barbara, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, Barbara.” His answer was far enough behind her that it sounded small—like him. A small mind and a small heart.

  Frost slowed her feet, taking in holiday happy feelings as she could get them. The cubicles were tense, the people still worried about their jobs. They were pleased to see the buyers touring the facility, though. Everyone knew they were from another mill and not a logging company. Their hopes were high, and she had just brushed off the source of their hope for an easy buyout. Mr. Paul was a guest, and she needed to treat him well for the sake of Bison employees and Tannon. She couldn’t afford—for Tannon’s sake—to mess this up. He needed a win.

  “We’re back,” she sing-songed as she entered his office. Delicious aromas wafted through the air. The paper snowflakes she’d hung from the ceiling swayed slightly as the heater kicked on. Along the windows overlooking the parking lot and the hills behind were two tables full of food. Mrs. Grant had catered three types of soup, soup bowls, and enough brownies and cookies to keep the Letters elves happy for a week.

  Tannon got up from his desk. “Good. I’m starving,” he said, low for just Frost to hear. He hadn’t gone on the tour because he had an important conference call with another potential buyer. From the downcast lines on Tannon’s face, Frost guessed the conversation hadn’t gone as well as he’d hoped. Which was all the more reason for her to be friendlier, which would be much easier now that Tannon was in the room and she wouldn’t have to worry about Mr. Paul’s wandering eyes.

  The group went through the buffet and took up their seats at the folding table Frost had covered with a navy tablecloth and decorated with silver accents. Not the classic Christmas colors, but she could appreciate the simple elegance and the darker navy set of the white snowflakes. She eyed them critically and decided silver glitter would not be amiss.

  After the group exclaimed upon how delicious the food was, Mr. Paul turned to Tannon. “I know how much you want for Bison, but what would it cost me to steal away your enchanting assistant?”

  Tannon’s spoon missed his mouth and spilled all over his dress shirt. Frost handed him a napkin and kept her glare away from Mr. Paul. She had a hard enough time liking the man when he spoke to her. When he spoke about her as if she were a Christmas goose for sale, she downright loathed him. She took a long drink of cranberry punch.

  Tannon swiped at his shirt, managing to look completely at ease and gorgeous as he did so. “I have as much of a say in Ms. Cratchit’s future as Santa Claus.”

  Frost choked on her drink. She covered her mouth with a napkin and managed to draw in a breath without sounding like an asthmatic reindeer.

  �
�You’ll have to ask her.” He turned towards Frost, and his expression morphed into one of concern.

  She must look a fright. Her eyes watered and stung and her cheeks were warm, but that could be because Tannon’s fingers were on her knee. “Fine.” She cleared her throat. “Fine. What was the question?”

  “I’d like to you fly away with me,” said Mr. Paul with a grin that would’ve scared a snake.

  The pressure from Tannon’s fingers doubled as he suddenly understood Mr. Paul’s objective. Frost couldn’t let him ruin the chances of selling the mill, not when things had gone so smoothly and Winnipeg had the means to make the purchase before the New Year.

  “I’m sorry, Mr. Paul. But I’m quite loyal.”

  “Even better—you can work for me after the purchase goes through. I plan to oversee the transition personally. I like to keep my hands on the assets.” He popped a piece of cookie in his mouth and winked at her.

  Frost smiled sweetly. “You may purchase the company, but you’ll never get your hands on these assets.”

  He swiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb. “I’ll take that as a challenge.”

  Tannon came up out of his chair. “You’d do better to take it as a shot down.” The edge of Tannon’s jaw grew hard and sharp. If Frost hadn’t been so worried about saving this deal, she would’ve taken a moment to admire his raw masculinity. Then again, what good would she do the people of Elderberry if she left them at the mercy of this man whose heart was an empty hole?

  “I don’t get shot down. Unlike you, women flock to my good looks and charm.” He ran his hand over his full head of hair, clearly insulting Tannon.

  Something inside of Frost reared up. If she had to put a face to it, then it would be the face of an abominable snowman with a toothache. She’d never felt anything so strong nor so … so fierce in all her life. She got to her feet, wanting to look down on the man as she spoke. “If women flock to you, it’s because they are like ducks in a pond looking for a free handout. Which I’m sure you’re happy to provide, because you’re a rotter and an eel. I am not desperate enough, nor stupid enough, to consider a man like you for even an evening’s worth of my time.”