When Snowflakes Never Cease (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  2. Professional equality—any man I date must be in a professional field. I do not date men in service industries or manual labor jobs.

  3. Financial equality—any man I date must not earn more than fifteen percent more than or less than I do.

  4. Priority compatibility—any man I date must take his career, health, personal growth, and spiritual life seriously.

  5. Family compatibility—any man I date must not have children must have children who like and accept me.

  6. Time compatibility—any man I date must enjoy spending time in similar ways to me—being active, travel, cultural events, etc.

  7. Spiritual equality—any man I date must be a Christian who doesn’t make me feel like a spiritual idiot.

  3. Financial equality—any man I date must not be intimidated or bothered by a disparity in our incomes/financial portfolios, and I must not be intimidated or bothered by his.

  Ronni scratched out the first one. “There are too many kinds of intelligence to make that verifiable and reasonable.” A weight lifted. She crossed out the fourth, too. “It’s semantics, maybe, but priorities change when life changes. It’s enough to know someone takes his priorities seriously. The rest is probably between him and God anyway.” For her own pride, she added a ridiculously dishonest, “Whoever he is.”

  It occurred to her that number five was simply stating the obvious. She’d changed it from no kids, and now it was moot. A line went through that one, too.

  Six… well, it still felt important. And even if Hank turned out to be someone she kept in contact with… if it went somewhere, then it would be because they enjoyed being together, right? So. what was the point?

  Still, it took a couple of failed attempts before she drew a slow, wobbly line through it.

  Seven made her laugh. The swift, decisive blackout didn’t take but a second to read and revoke. “I wouldn’t go out with a guy who made me feel like a spiritual idiot, so why have a rule about marrying him? Dumb.”

  The revised three, however, nearly glowed at her. It refused to be extinguished. Financial security had always been important to her, and she wasn’t about to toss that aside for some guy who thought a good retirement fund meant he qualified for Social Security and Medi-Care.

  One item out of seven remained, but it might be potentially unsurmountable. “Time will tell, I suppose.”

  Ronni snapped the journal shut and tossed beside her as she turned out the light. A moment later, the light glowed again, and she opened to that page. It took a couple of seconds to arrange it in a natural-looking way, but if Hank wanted to read it, he could. And maybe that would tell him what she still didn’t trust herself to consider. Going out on a limb here, Lord. Help me hang on!

  He’d gotten up at two-thirty to load the trailer. With the coffee pot doing its thing, Hank stood by blasting heater vents to get him warm before he went to wake up Ronni. The last thing she needed was to feel frozen out—even literally.

  The moment the coffee pot stopped dribbling, he turned down the thermostat and went to annoy her. That thought prompted a smile. She’d be the kind of woman who enjoyed a little annoyance now and then—if it was deliberate, and if he could take as good as he gave. Hank could.

  Once inside the apartment, he flicked up her thermostat enough to beat off the chill of the garage. She’d warned him twice. Wake her up slowly, or he’d be likely to end up with a black eye and mangled body parts. Hank winced more at what she hadn’t said than what she had. He turned on the bedside light and smiled at the picture she made.

  Hair spilled over the pillow… eyelashes lay against rosy cheeks. Lips parted… drool drizzling out of the side of her mouth. She’d be mortified. Hank fumbled for his phone and snapped a photo. He’d have it by her cup of coffee when she awoke.

  Ronni shifted. He considered calling her name and jumping back, but that journal she’d showed him lay open beside the bed. She’d crossed out every line but one. Finances. If we can get her to trust You in that, Lord, we might find out if we have any true compatibility. Then maybe she’ll be ready to hear about the mess at Tahoe…

  A tear rolled down her temple—one of those odd things that happen while you’re sleeping, of course, but it touched Hank’s heart, nonetheless. He brushed it away. “Ronni…” No stir. A little louder. “Ronni…”

  One eye opened. The other. How’d she do that? She rubbed them both and sat up. Hank knew the moment she became aware of her drooling mouth. Eyes wide, she turned away, but he passed her the Kleenex box. “We all do it, Ronni. You were adorable. Want a picture?”

  “If you’ve got one, I want to see it.”

  Hank gave it one last look. It would definitely be the last. Sure enough, once she got her hands on that phone, she had it deleted in less than three seconds. Hank grinned. “Merry Christmas.”

  All the polish and grit that made up Ronni Carlisle exploded into bright eyes and a huge smile. “It is! Merry Christmas!”

  The men in Peg’s books would have taken that moment to initiate some serious imaginary mistletoe, but Hank didn’t dare. Ronni was the kind of woman who would want her teeth brushed first. That didn’t mean he couldn’t kiss her forehead, tell her how glad he was that she’d come—that she’d come up with this celebration idea.

  He just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Yet. “Coffee’s ready.”

  Ronni pushed her hair out of her face and eyed him. “What is wrong with your thermostat? It’s hot in here! I turned it down before I went to bed, but…”

  “I’ll kick it on the way out,” Hank promised before he bolted from the room.

  With the thermostat down past seventy, and the garage door swinging to pull some of the cool air in, Hank waited until he heard the bathroom door shut and then hurried to fix the coffee the way he now knew she liked it.

  He stood sipping his when she entered the kitchen looking rather attractive for a woman in a sweater and jeans. Boots. She wore boots, and they did a number on him. “Nice boots.”

  She gave them half a glance at most. “I thought they’d be warm if we went out somewhere casual. Didn’t expect to actually need them.”

  “You’ll still need Peg’s boots.”

  “Are you sure? They’re really—”

  “Not warm enough to save your toes.” Hank offered her an olive branch. “But bring them along. They look too good to languish here alone when we can do Christmas in them at the airport.”

  True to her nature, she didn’t argue as expected. Ronni did little that he expected. Like cross out half her husband wish list. Although, he did think she’d pummel him if he called it that, and he was confident that he wasn’t wrong about that one.

  He’d better confess before he got distracted. “Read your journal this morning, Ronni.”

  “Good.”

  “Good?”

  Ronni took a sip and closed her eyes as she swallowed. “Yeah… I won’t have to figure out how to bring it up to show you.”

  That explained it all. “So, you left it there hoping I’d see it?” She nodded… and sipped again. “What do we load up first?”

  “It’s all in the trailer.” When she ticked off item after item… food, second crockpot, gifts… he just nodded.

  “My purse?”

  “If you need it, I’ll get it in there.”

  After draining her cup, tearing a paper towel off the roll, and blotting her lips, she turned to him. “Let’s go make Christmas.”

  Once he’d downed the rest of his, Hank nodded. “Just as soon as you suit and snow boot up.”

  “You’re smarter than you look.”

  She couldn’t have offered him a better opening if she’d meant to. Hank slipped an arm around her waist and steered her toward the back door. “Looks like you took that off your list just a little too quickly…”

  They burst into the side door of the airport with as little noise as possible—only that of a small herd of raging buffalo. Ronni expected Yolanda to appear with demands for silence, before
a baby awoke or passengers complained about no decent sleep. From what she could tell, no one awoke.

  Hank urged her out of the outer snowsuit. “It’s probably a bit wet from spray. Just on the safe side. I’ll start carrying in the stuff.”

  “I can—”

  Without looking back at her, he said, “Let me do this, Ronni. Sometimes a guy wants to be the hero—even of something pathetic like not making a gal go out in the cold, okay?”

  As soon as she’d removed that outer snowsuit, Ronni started for the door to go find the crockpot he’d brought with the first round, but there it sat in the center of the desk. There was literally nothing she could do until the presents arrived, or the tree, or the ornaments. It would be beautiful, though—and so unexpected for everyone.

  Disappointment kicked her in the gut. Everyone but Hank. I don’t have anything for the guy who gave me a place to stay and who challenged every one of my plans. An idea—weak, but the only one she had—prompted her to go digging through the paper tray of a printer behind the desk. Jackpot. He burst through the door with the tree and a flat thing with wheels before she could dig through drawers for a pen.

  “I’ll be back with the ornaments,” he hissed and disappeared outside again. Ronni scrambled for that pen, considered for a moment, and wrote her note. By the time Hank arrived with the next two boxes, she had the tree shaken out and sitting atop the dolly. That’s what he’d called it. A dolly.

  “Don’t suppose you thought to bring a sheet or something?”

  That stopped Hank in his tracks. “A sheet?”

  “For a tree skirt?”

  He shook his head. “But there’s a big heap of that felt-like snow in with the ornaments. That’ll do, won’t it?”

  She just looked at him until his cheeks grew as red as Santa Claus’. “You, Hank Wright, might just be a keeper.”

  “Don’t tempt me to shirk my duties and go in search of a little mistletoe.”

  That caught her attention. “Is that even within the realm of possibility?”

  “You promise to be my tester, and it’s a given.”

  Something in the way he wouldn’t look at her told her he’d overplayed his hand. “I’ll take that challenge and call your bluff. You show up with real mistletoe, and I’ll be your tester—both for initial freshness and also now and then to ensure that it stays effective.”

  Though he turned to go, a moment later, Hank crossed the room and pulled her close. With his eyes holding hers captive, he cradled her face and whispered, “Fair warning, Veronica Carlisle. I wasn’t bluffing.”

  Cold air stung Hank’s cheeks as he whipped down the road toward Bev’s. That wreath had a bunch of mistletoe on it. All Ronni had stipulated was that it be real. Well, it definitely had been real. One leaf had been the sickly yellow that sometimes spoiled a cluster. Bev probably considered it artistic or something.

  Bev didn’t answer his knock, so he took a picture of the wreath, untied the mistletoe from it, and took off for the airport again. He’d call and leave a message on her answering machine as soon as he found her number in Peg’s old phone. How many people keep their spouse’s old phones as address books these days?

  By the time he returned to the airport and burst through the door, Ronni had the tree on the dolly, the lights on it, and was draping it in silver tinsel. “Yola won’t appreciate that.”

  With a practiced flick of the wrist, she tossed another few strands on an upper branch. “Why’s that?”

  “The mess. Those kids’ll have it scattered in an hour flat. She’ll be finding strands for months.”

  “Then,” Ronni countered, “she needs to fire her maintenance team. There’s no excuse for that.”

  What was it with city people and applying their ideas of grandeur to everything? “Well, considering her ‘maintenance team’ is the same as the plumber, the scheduling agent, the publicity, payroll, and general manager—”

  “Yolanda has to do it all. I get it.” Ronni jerked her head toward the box of ornaments. “Can you open them up and start on the left side of the tree? We have to keep it even all around, so don’t put things too close together.”

  That’s when he realized that she hadn’t figured out where he’d been. This would be fun. Much, much too fun. Almost too easy, too.

  Once every ornament was on the tree, and they stood back, the reordering began. After she’d moved one for the third time, Hank went to work on hams in the crockpots. “If you need me…”

  The woman murmured something noncommittal, but she did touch his shoulder as she reached past for a satin ball on his other side. “That’s missing anything to hang it with.”

  She hesitated before reaching up to pull an earring from her ear—one that looked almost like a fishing hook. When she started to bend it, Hank grabbed her hand. “Don’t… don’t. Let me figure out something else.”

  “It’s not an expensive piece. I never take good jewelry on trips with me.”

  Hank didn’t let go. “Still, it’s pretty. Leave it. I’ll use…” His keyring offered a solution. “Here, look. I’ll just do this.”

  One by one, he twisted his keys from the ring and then fought to get the plastic thing slipped through the metal pieces. Success earned him a wink. “That’s not going to replace mistletoe. You get my goodwill and gratitude only.”

  “Don’t need a replacement.”

  Her eyes darted around the room, but when she found nothing, that smug look returned. If he hadn’t created a perfect plan, Hank might have been tempted to kiss the thing right off her face. Peg would have dared him to by now. Ronni… she wasn’t ready for that. Not yet.

  The hams had been wrapped in aluminum foil and stuffed in each crockpot by the time Ronni decided it was time for the light test. “Come over here by the door and close your eyes. Let’s see how we’re doing before we sneak it down to the lobby down there.”

  Works for me.

  Hank pulled the mistletoe from his pocket the moment she turned out the lights. Grasping his free hand with more force than he would have expected, Ronni counted down. “Three… two… one!”

  Nothing. Once more, she gave that deep, throaty giggle that did an even bigger number on his senses this time. “I guess it might have helped to plug it in first. Just keep your eyes closed. I’ll be right back.”

  “Hurry.”

  That stopped her. “Why?”

  “I’m scared of the dark.”

  Again with the giggle. “You are not.”

  “Am too—especially when you’re around.”

  She sniffed and moved away. “I should have left intelligent on the list.”

  “To keep me away?”

  Shuffling and a grunt reached him before she spoke. “No… because despite your assertions of academic mediocrity, you are definitely intelligent.”

  And you wanted me to fit that list before you chucked it. That’s even better than chucking it.

  When she returned, she reached for his hand again and began counting down. “Three…”

  “Two-one. Surprise!” Hank looked up, and the scraggly, misshapen, cheap, artificial tree with its generic and boring ornaments glowed magnificently in the multi-colored lights. “Beautiful.”

  “How is that even possible?”

  Hank knew that answer. “Love, Ronni. Love makes even the homely beautiful to the beloved.”

  “So, you’re telling me I love you? Is that it?”

  The edge in her voice might have alarmed fifteen-year-old Hank. Didn’t faze him now that he was nearly forty years older. “I’m saying you’re showing love to those people in there, and love begets beauty.” He hung the mistletoe above them and gazed up at it. “And while love is a bit much to hope for after a whopping forty-eight hours, someone did promise me a kiss if I found real mistletoe…”

  If her surprise hadn’t been accompanied by such delight, Hank might have been insulted… or at least discouraged. Hank dangled it a bit more before asking, “Mind if I pocket this for a minute?
I need to test it out.”

  “Be my guest.”

  Those books of Peg’s had made first kisses… special. The man saying he loved her. Hank couldn’t do that. Sometimes he’d offer a feather-light brush of the lips—to increase anticipation, Peg had said. They’d tried it a time or two, too. If he did it now, Ronni might think he really didn’t want to—or that he was half-blind and couldn’t find her lips. Finding them? Not a problem. Keeping them captive? Equally not a problem. Finding a happy medium between the two… terrifying.

  “I don’t bite, Hank.”

  Five minutes later, he could attest to the fact that Ronni Carlisle did not bite… but she sure knew how to return a toe-curling kiss. “Oh, Ronni… what’ve we done?”

  She wrapped arms around him, snuggled close, and sighed. “So, how do you feel about long-distance dating?”

  “You asking me out?”

  “Mmm… hmm…”

  “Will you visit as often as you can?”

  She turned in his arms and gazed up at him. “Hank, if I somehow, someway manage to land this development and get to retire, if we’ve established anything by that time, I’ll move here for six months and see what happens.”

  It was more than he could have hoped for—more than was reasonable, even. Maybe they could work out a better compromise. Meanwhile, for now, he’d accept it. “Gonna hold you to that.”

  Light flooded the room and nearly blinded him. “Let’s sneak that thing into the lobby in there and have it ready for them.” Ronni winked. “And get me out of here before I lose what sense I have left.”

  They sat together, leaning against the counter where Yolanda usually presided. The tree twinkled in the center of the room, and packages entirely covered the skirt, the dolly, and a good bit of the floor. All around them, the passengers slumbered—on the floor, in chairs, even on a couple of banquet tables. Five carry-on suitcases about the same size had been stretched out, and a sleeping bag put on top for an elderly woman who looked too frail to be traveling alone. Snores rolled over the room like a somnolent tide.