The Merriest Magnolia

by Michelle Major

  She wanted to believe she could be strong, but what would happen if she allowed herself to fall for Dylan again? What if he asked her to put aside her plans for the town in order to support his?

  Would she be strong enough to say no if her heart told her to give in?

  “You’re thinking too hard right now.” Dylan traced his finger along the worry line between her eyes.

  “Why did you invite me to go to the beach with you?” she asked, pushing him away. She bent to pick up the discarded supplies that had fallen to the floor.

  Dylan drew back his hand and shrugged. “I thought you’d have fun.”

  “Dylan.”

  “You’re good with Sam. It’s rough for him sometimes with just me. I’m not the best at making things fun. He relaxes around you.”

  “He’d relax if you did,” she said quietly.

  “Probably,” he agreed, surprising her.

  This new Dylan was just full of surprises.

  “I’m still not sorry I kissed you,” he said suddenly. “I don’t care if you consider me an enemy. I like kissing you, Carrie.”

  She straightened, holding a wad of pencils in her fist in front of her body like a sword. “The kissing’s okay,” she muttered.

  He threw back his head and laughed. “If I didn’t have to meet Sam, I’d take great pleasure in wiping that lie from your lips.”

  “He’s going to beat you to the car if you don’t go now.”

  “Then I’ll take a rain check.” He leaned in closer. “Keep that in mind, sweetheart.”

  A quiver raced through Carrie as he turned and walked away. She would have liked to toss off some great comeback but wasn’t sure she had enough control of her mouth to even form words at that point.

  Instead, she hit Play on her phone and continued to clean up the art room to the sounds of her favorite Christmas songs. The most wonderful time of the year indeed.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  “SHE’S GOING TO kick you out,” Dylan said as he pulled his Porsche into an angled parking space in front of Sunnyside Bakery Saturday morning. “The donuts at the gas station near the water tower aren’t horrible.”

  “Are you nuts?” Sam smoothed a hand over his hair. “Those taste like a dog turd in comparison to Mrs. Winkler’s.”

  Daisy perked up from the backseat at the word dog. Dylan couldn’t believe he’d allowed the shedding, drooling animal on his premium leather. Daisy lifted a paw and scratched it against the console, silently asking to be invited into one of their laps.

  “You know I paid extra for the interior upgrade,” he told Sam.

  “Daisy likes it,” the boy answered with a grin. “I’ll get you a biscuit, girl.”

  “Don’t say I didn’t warn you,” Dylan called to the boy as he exited the car.

  They were meeting Carrie at the beach, and Sam had insisted they stop by Sunnyside for pastries to bring with them.

  Secretly, Dylan hoped that Mary Ellen Winkler either wasn’t at the shop that morning or didn’t realize his connection to Sam. He really could use a sticky bun.

  The dog whined as Sam disappeared into the shop. “He’ll be back,” Dylan told her, then placed his arm as a barrier between the seats to prevent Daisy from hopping into the front.

  The dog remained skittish with random noises and new people when they went on walks, but she’d bonded with Sam like she’d imprinted on him.

  Every night Daisy curled up at the end of Sam’s bed, and Dylan had to admit it tugged on heartstrings he hadn’t even realized he possessed to see how happy the dog made Sam. So much that he hadn’t even minded Meredith’s gleeful gloating when she’d come by to check on Daisy’s adjustment. Of course, that hadn’t made him take on the stray cat she’d tried to convince him to foster. Not yet anyway.

  A knock on the window and Daisy’s ensuing clamor had him jumping in his seat.

  He rolled down the window to glare at the old man grinning at him. “Damn, Skeeter. Why would you sneak up on me like that?”

  Skeeter McIntire adjusted his ever-present wad of chew from one cheek to the other, spit out a disgusting stream of brown liquid then leaned in. “You gotta be on your toes, Scott. I thought yer daddy taught you that lesson.”

  “We both know he did,” Dylan muttered. His father hadn’t exactly been what Dylan would have considered abusive, but he also hadn’t been shy about pulling off his belt for a teachable moment. He and Skeeter had worked together at the textile factory throughout most of Dylan’s childhood until the layoffs started. After that they’d spent a lot of time airing their grievances about the unfairness of life over cans of cheap beer. “But he’s not here anymore.”

  “God rest his soul.” Skeeter touched his gnarled fingers to his chest. “How’s your mama doing?”

  “Fine, I guess.” Dylan hadn’t heard from or reached out to his mother in months. He’d send her a fruit basket and a hefty check for Christmas, and she’d call from Florida to chide him for not visiting then they’d go about their separate lives until the following year. It was a relationship dynamic that seemed to work for them both.

  “I’ve been lookin’ for you at Murphy’s. Tommy and the boys are ready to buy the first round.”

  “I’m taking care of my cousin’s boy right now,” Dylan answered noncommittally. “Doesn’t leave a lot of time for a social life.”

  “Kid don’t sleep?” Skeeter asked with a laugh. “Bar stays open till one most nights.”

  “I’ll remember that.”

  Skeeter’s gaze sharpened. “I heard you bought the factory.”

  Dylan’s mouth went dry, but he kept his expression steady. “Yeah.”

  “That place was a thorn in the side to me and your dad.”

  “I know.”

  “It’s also a big part of this town’s history.” Skeeter ran a hand through his thinning hair. “Someone told me that Reed girl wants to turn the place into a community center.”

  “Is that so?” Dylan’s heart began to hammer in his chest.

  The old man shrugged. “Article said it would make a big difference for people. Kind of a new lease sort of thing. Way better than ritzy condos.”

  It shouldn’t surprise Dylan that everyday folks like Skeeter had heard about his initial plan for the factory. News traveled in a small town. “Since when have you become an avid reader?” he asked with a laugh, doing his best to keep his voice neutral. He wasn’t going to engage in a conversation with some old-timer about the factory, although it surprised him that Skeeter didn’t see the merit of razing the building and starting over. He’d hated that place as much as Dylan’s father had.

  “I got the Google,” Skeeter replied with a nod. “Tommy got me one of them smarty pants phones for my birthday. Reckon it makes me as smarty pants as the next guy.”

  Daisy yipped from the backseat, and Sam climbed into the truck, glancing warily at Skeeter. Dylan couldn’t blame the kid. Skeeter looked half-crazed on a good day.

  “That the boy?” Skeeter asked, bushy brows raised.

  “Skeeter, this is Sam Scott.” He gave Sam a reassuring smile. “Sam, this is Skeeter. He and my dad were friends.”

  “Besties,” Skeeter reported. “That’s what my granddaughters call it these days.”

  “Nice to meet you,” Sam said then busied himself with petting Daisy around the headrest of his seat.

  “How old’s the kid?” Skeeter asked.

  “Fifteen.”

  “And you can’t leave him to grab a beer? He like to start fires or something?”

  Dylan ignored Sam’s indignant snort. “No fires. I’ll stop by Murphy’s one night next week.”

  “Alrighty, then. I’ll print off that article for you. Tommy got me a laser jet, too.”

  “Good to see you, Skeeter.”

  “Nice to have you back where you belong,
Scott. I miss your old man.”

  “Can’t say the same,” Dylan said under his breath then rolled up the window.

  Jaw clenched tight, he backed out and then started toward the road that led to the beach.

  “Was Grandpa friends with that guy, too?” Sam asked after a few quiet moments.

  “No.” Dylan shook his head, wishing he could also shake off the black mood that had descended over him in large part due to the conversation with Skeeter. “Your grandpa left Magnolia for college and never came back. I’m sure he knew Skeeter, but they weren’t friends.”

  “Grandpa used to tell me stories about the trouble he and his brother got into growing up. Did you know one time they hid a dozen chickens in the high school and the teachers had to chase them all around?”

  Dylan smiled despite his mood. “The Scotts have a long history of causing trouble in this town.”

  “A little risky bringing me back here,” Sam said with a cheeky grin. “You know I like trouble.”

  “There’s trouble and then there’s being a reckless idiot,” Dylan clarified. “Just make sure you know the difference. It took me way too long to learn that lesson.”

  “I’m smarter than you.” Sam reached into the brown bag. The scent of sugar and fresh dough filled the truck’s interior. The boy tore off a piece of a cookie and handed it to Daisy.

  “No people food for the dog,” Dylan reminded him.

  “It’s a dog treat,” Sam clarified. “Mrs. Winkler gave it to me for Daisy. Carrie’s sister told her I adopted the dog.”

  “We adopted,” Dylan reminded him.

  “Yeah, man, I don’t think she mentioned you.” Sam tried and failed to mask his laughter with a cough. “Ms. Winkler really doesn’t like you.”

  “I know. Did you get me a sticky bun?”

  “In fact,” Sam continued as if Dylan hadn’t spoken, “she gave me an extra chocolate donut and told me everything was free if I promised not to share it with you.”

  Dylan felt his eyes narrow. “She did not.”

  “She said it cost over six hundred dollars to fix the damage you did when you broke into the store.”

  “I know,” Dylan repeated, “and my dad not only tanned my hide for it, but I had to work at the bakery for an entire summer for free to pay it back. Let my mistakes serve as a lesson for what not to do.”

  “Would you tan my hide?” Sam asked, sounding genuinely curious.

  “Hell, ye—” Dylan shook his head. What was he saying? He’d never lay a hand on the boy. “I’d make you pay it back with interest. I can’t believe she’s held a grudge against me for this long. She’s worse than an elephant with that memory.”

  “Bro, I don’t know a lot about women, but not even Mrs. Winkler would want to be compared to an elephant.”

  “Don’t say a word, then.” Dylan turned onto the beach road. The sky looked more expansive out here and he rolled down the windows a bit to breathe in the first scent of salty air. “You can wait until you get out of the car to eat. My stomach is already rumbling. If you pull out one of your special free pastries, I might lose it.”

  Sam fed Daisy another piece of biscuit and Dylan cringed as crumbs scattered to the seat. So much for the damn leather.

  “I wonder if Mrs. Winkler would give me the biscuit recipe?” Sam asked absently. “Daisy likes those way better than her kibble.”

  “They’re probably not as nutritious.” Even to his own ears, Dylan sounded like a petulant schoolboy, but he didn’t care. He hated being punished a decade later for the stupid things he’d done as an angry teen. And he wanted a sticky bun.

  He parked the car a few spaces down from Carrie’s ancient station wagon. He knew it was hers because she’d driven the same car in high school. How had their lives gone in such different directions?

  As he turned off the ignition, Sam held out a pastry wrapped in butcher paper.

  “I told you to eat it outside the car,” he snapped at the boy.

  “This is yours.” Sam shrugged. “I got you a glazed donut, too.”

  Dylan stared at the kid. “I thought you said Mary Ellen gave you everything with the condition that you didn’t share with me.”

  “She offered, but I turned her down.”

  Dylan’s lungs constricted and he had trouble drawing in air. He didn’t exactly recognize the emotion squeezing his chest, but it overwhelmed him just the same.

  Sam wiggled his eyebrows. “I was going to pay for it. Then I told her my parents would have been happy we’d moved to Magnolia where I could be surrounded by a community of good role models on how to treat people. The extra donut was actually her idea.”

  “A combination of guilt and sweet talk,” Dylan murmured, taking the pastry from the boy. “Do you know how proud your dad would have been at this moment?”

  “Mom used to say he could charm a cobra.”

  “Clearly, you inherited the gift.”

  Dylan held his breath as he waited for the boy’s reaction. He didn’t usually bring up reminders of Wiley and Kay. It wasn’t as if either he or Sam ever forgot, but he didn’t want to make the kid sad by constantly reminding him of the loss he’d suffered.

  Sam seemed to take it in stride, a grin playing around the corners of his mouth. Dylan immediately discovered another reason to judge himself. In truth, his reluctance to discuss Sam’s parents had more to do with how uncomfortable it made him than in upsetting Sam.

  “Let’s go, Daisy.” Sam got out of the car with the bakery bag and opened the door to the backseat.

  The dog paced and whined, obviously anxious at the thought of leaving the safety of the truck but also not willing to be separated from her favorite person if she could help it.

  “You’re going to like the beach,” the boy assured her. “Come on. It will be fun. I promise.”

  “She can stay in the truck if she’s going to freak out too much,” Dylan said, opening his door.

  As if she understood his words, Daisy daintily hopped out of the backseat.

  “She’s coming with us. Daisy’s going to the beach.” Sam’s voice held a level of enthusiasm Dylan hadn’t heard before. He understood the sullen, grieving teen he’d come to know like the back of his hand could return at any time, so he had to get over his shock and simply enjoy this moment.

  With a scruffy dog, a few sweet pastries and Carrie, maybe there was hope after all.

  * * *

  CARRIE WASN’T SURE she’d done the right thing for today. Then she saw the look in Sam’s eyes as he crested the path that led to the beach and noticed the canopy she’d set up in the sand.

  “This is awesome,” the boy said, taking in the battery-operated lights strung across the tent and the garland she’d wrapped around each of the four poles anchoring the structure. “Is there some kind of party out here today?”

  “Just us,” she said with a shrug. “I know it’s not the same as a huge snowfall that gets you off school, but I wanted you to see that winter at the beach could be fun, too.”

  The boy tried to hide his smile, but she could tell he liked the effort she’d made. “The lights are shaped like seashells.”

  “I bought molds, buckets and shovels for sandcastle making at the hardware store. Don’t feel pressure to build a sandcastle. I get that you’re a teenager and this isn’t your first time at the beach. You don’t have to feel pressure to do anything.”

  “It’s cool,” he said finally, and it seemed like they both felt relief she could stop talking. “Daisy can help me.”

  The dog stood behind his legs, peeking out at Carrie around one knee. Normally, Meredith’s rescue pets instantly liked Carrie. The fact that Daisy didn’t made her want to win over the dog, just like she wanted to persuade Sam to give her a chance and...

  She broke off as Dylan approached. He wore faded jeans, a dark T-shirt under a gra
y flannel and a bewildered expression.

  “Here.” Sam shoved a bag toward Carrie. “We got food from the bakery. Mrs. Winkler helped me order your favorites.”

  “Thanks,” she said but before the word was out of her mouth, the boy had moved past her, grabbed the tub of beach toys and headed closer to the shore where the wet sand would be better for packing.

  “Is there a party we didn’t know about?” Dylan gestured toward the hanging lights and decorations.

  Carrie felt suddenly embarrassed by the effort she’d made. It was stupid to try so hard when she should want to run Dylan out of town, not make him and Sam feel more welcome. But it went against her nature to be cruel. Unfortunately, more times than she cared to count, that had left her in the unenviable position of doormat to the people in her life.

  “Sam asked the same thing, but no.” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I thought it would be fun to have a festive day at the beach.”

  Dylan whistled under his breath. “You went to a lot of work.”

  “Not really.”

  He bent his knees until they were at eye level. “I appreciate it,” he said with what looked like a genuine smile.

  “Oh.”

  His eyes flicked to a place over her shoulder and then he leaned in and brushed a quick kiss across her lips. “Thank you for coming today. Sam doesn’t hate me quite as much when you’re around.”

  She shook her head. “He doesn’t hate you at all.”

  Dylan didn’t answer and she wouldn’t push him to agree with her. That would come in time.

  “Are you going to have something to eat?” he asked, tapping a finger on the bag.

  “Sam got a cinnamon roll for me,” she murmured. “He didn’t have to do that.”

  “You don’t like to let people do anything nice for you.”

  “Not true,” she protested.