The Clause In Christmas (Poppy Creek Series Book 1)

by Rachael Bloome

  Fortunately, his office felt a few degrees cooler than the reception area, and Cassie gratefully sank into the smooth leather of the club chair.

  “First,” Luke said, gazing at her across the expansive oak desk with the most perfect hazel eyes Cassie had ever seen.

  Drat.

  She’d noticed his eyes. Mistake number one.

  “Let me say how sorry I am about your grandmother,” Luke continued. “She was loved by everyone in Poppy Creek and has been missed by all of us.”

  Cassie squirmed, causing the slick upholstery to squeak as she shifted her weight. “Thanks.” She couldn’t think of anything else to say. Her own feelings on the subject would take a slew of shrinks to untangle.

  Luke cleared his throat. “About your grandmother’s will…”

  Cassie held her breath, waiting eagerly for those magic words: She’s left you her charming, picturesque cottage, which is sure to fetch you a small fortune. But the only noise filling the silence resembled something sharp tapping against metal. Glancing down, Cassie realized she’d been strumming her fingernails against her thermos. She quickly set it on the desk, not wanting to reveal her scrambled nerves or how desperately she needed this inheritance. The truth was, she could only afford to pay rent for one more month. After that…

  Clearing his throat again, Luke reached into a file drawer and pulled out a festively printed binder of sorts. “The details of the will are… unusual.”

  Panic rose in Cassie’s throat, but she swallowed it down, scooting toward the edge of the chair. “You mean there’s a contingency? Like a waiting period or something?”

  “Something like that.” He placed the binder on the desk and slid it toward her.

  Cassie stared at the garish red-and-green plaid fabric with the words Christmas Calendar stretched across it in gold foil lettering. “What’s this?”

  “This is your grandmother’s Christmas Calendar.” He said the words as though having something called a Christmas Calendar was the most commonplace thing in the world.

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Here’s the thing.” Luke took a deep breath, stretching his sweater across his broad chest in a way that made Frosty’s eyes bulge.

  What was a grown man doing wearing such a ridiculous sweater, anyway? Cassie steered her attention back to Luke’s face, trying to focus while he explained the fine print that could change her entire life.

  “There’s a small clause in your grandmother’s will. To inherit the house, you have to complete her Christmas Calendar. For each day in December, she’s listed a different festive task for you to carry out until you reach December 25. As the executor of her will, I’ll oversee your progress. If you can check off each day’s task, come Christmas day, the house will be yours.”

  Cassie nearly fell off the chair. He couldn’t be serious! “Please, tell me you’re joking.”

  “Afraid not.”

  “But that’s crazy!”

  “I’ll admit it’s unorthodox.”

  “It’s certifiable!” Cassie sprang to her feet and paced the hardwood floor. “I don’t know how you do things in this town, but you can’t—you can’t expect me to…” She halted mid-stride and whirled back around. Flipping open the Christmas Calendar to a random page, she read, “Make a gingerbread house.”

  “A house for a house.” Luke chuckled at his own joke.

  “This isn’t funny.”

  His eyes still dancing, Luke muffled his laughter behind a cough. “Of course. And no one is forcing you to do anything. If you don’t want the house, then…” He reached for the Calendar.

  Cassie squeezed her eyes shut. She needed the house. She’d applied for several dozen jobs in the past few months and had been rejected by all of them. Beggars couldn’t be choosers. But could she really do this? The so-called most wonderful time of the year had only brought her heartache. And the mere suggestion of the Christmas Calendar made her insides clench. But at this point, did she have a choice?

  “Wait.” Cassie opened her eyes, and before she could change her mind, blurted, “I’ll do it.”

  “Great.” Luke rose and handed her the Calendar. “You have a few days until December 1. I suspect you’ll need some time to settle in.”

  Cassie squashed a groan. She hadn’t thought about that. “I’ll need to go back home to pack a few things. Since I’ll be staying a while, apparently.” She tried not to sound as bitter as she felt. But honestly, what were these people thinking? It wasn’t as if her grandmother had known she didn’t have a job—or a life—that would preclude her from carrying out the ridiculous clause.

  “Of course. As long as you’re back by the first.” Luke pulled a small envelope from the top drawer of his desk. “You’ll find the key to your grandmother’s house inside, as well as directions from Main Street. It’s the last cottage at the end of Walnut Lane. You can’t miss it.” He held it out to her, then paused, appearing conflicted. “I realize all of this might be a tad inconvenient. If you’d like a letter explaining things to your place of employment…”

  “That won’t be necessary.” Cassie snatched the envelope, resisting the urge to shout, A tad inconvenient? Are you kidding? “Thanks,” she mumbled insincerely and spun on her heel.

  “Oh, one more thing.”

  Cassie turned back, hoping the entire exchange had been one ginormous, ill-humored prank.

  A slow, sincere smile spread across Luke’s face, reaching all the way to those dazzling—and downright disconcerting—hazel eyes.

  “Welcome to Poppy Creek.”

  * * *

  As Luke closed the front door behind Cassie, he felt a pang of disappointment. He wasn’t sure why—he’d known the woman all of two seconds—but he didn’t want her to leave. And it wasn’t just because he felt guilty for springing the Christmas Calendar on her. Although he did feel terrible about it. It was clear she’d been caught off guard. And Luke couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t easy to uproot your life and move to a strange new town for an entire month. Most people only had two to three weeks of vacation time. Not to mention the toll it would take on a relationship.

  For some reason, the thought of Cassie Hayward happily coupled with another guy deepened the crease in Luke’s forehead.

  “Pretty girl, don’t you think?” Dolores interrupted his thoughts.

  Although she sent an innocent sideways glance in his direction, Luke wasn’t fooled by her casual tone. The wily, though well-meaning, woman had an agenda. But then, the entire town had an agenda when it came to Luke’s love life. Which was ironic considering they were the main reason he didn’t have one.

  “Sure, I suppose.” Luke strode to the fireplace and added another log, stoking the fire until it crackled and sparked up the brick chimney.

  “You don’t see eyes that green very often, do you? And her lovely long hair… The color reminds me of my gingersnaps.”

  “Or chocolate molasses cookies,” Luke added before snapping his mouth shut.

  Dolores smirked, and Luke couldn’t believe he let her rope him into having this conversation.

  “Yes, you’re right. Definitely molasses cookies.” Dolores pushed her heels against the braided rug, setting the rocking chair in motion.

  Luke knelt in front of the hearth, giving Banjo a good scratch behind his ears as he watched the sleek lines of the rocker glide back and forth. He still felt proud of that rocking chair. Besides the farm table in his mother’s dining room, it was his favorite piece of handiwork. In fact, looking at it made him itch to get back to his shop and design something new.

  “She’s Edith’s granddaughter?” Dolores asked, interrupting his thoughts again.

  “Yeah. Crazy, huh? Until a few months ago, I didn’t even know Edith had a granddaughter.”

  Luke’s throat tightened at the memory. Edith Hayward, a feisty five foot two, had given him the news of her stage four cancer diagnosis as nonchalantly as a recipe for fried chicken. She even had her last will and testament type
d out on her old Remington typewriter, ready for him to look over. Less than six weeks later she was gone. Which came as a shock to everyone but Luke. Given the clause in her will, he suspected Edith somehow knew she didn’t have much time left.

  But that’s how cancer was… sometimes. Other times, it disappeared for a while, long enough to give a person hope. Until it returned, even more aggressive than before. At least, that’s how it had been for Luke’s dad.

  “Edith didn’t like to talk about it much,” Dolores told him. “It was a difficult time in her life, you know. When her daughter left, taking her newborn baby with her.”

  “What happened?” Luke asked, surprised by how badly he wanted to know.

  Dolores stopped rocking and adjusted her glasses, both eyebrows raised. “Why, Luke Ryan Davis, you don’t take me for a gossip, do you?”

  Playing along good-naturedly, Luke feigned surprise. “Of course not! I know better than that.”

  Dolores sniffed and continued rocking. “That you do. This town has enough busybodies, if you ask me.” She paused and glanced down at Banjo, who was in heaven thanks to Luke’s ear scratches. “For goodness’ sake, he sounds like Arthur’s old Cadillac DeVille.”

  Luke chuckled. “Before he replaced the engine.”

  Dolores smiled at the fond memory before her brow furrowed. “Now, tell me, why did that poor girl seem so upset when she left?”

  Luke’s lips curled in bemusement. Apparently, Dolores’s aversion to gossip didn’t extend to listening.

  “There’s a clause in Edith’s will that prevents her from inheriting the house right away.”

  “Oh?” Dolores set down her knitting needles and unraveled a few more inches of the burgundy yarn. “I suppose that doesn’t surprise me. Edith never did like to do things the normal way. What’s the clause?”

  Luke’s features softened. Dolores was right. Edith Hayward was an unconventional woman, but her nonconformity usually benefited someone she loved. She’d even waived her client confidentiality, knowing once her granddaughter undertook the tasks of the Christmas Calendar, she would need all the help she could get.

  After Luke filled her in, Dolores threw her head back in laughter. “Ol’ Edie sure did love her Christmas Calendar, didn’t she? Not a year went by that she didn’t do every single thing on her list. But why would a thing like that make her granddaughter so upset? It’s only a bit of holiday fun.”

  “Yeah, but it’s also pretty inconvenient. The strange thing is, when I pointed that out to Edith, she merely waved her hand as though it wouldn't be a problem.” Luke shook his head in incredulity. “I offered to send a letter to Cassie’s employer explaining the situation, but she didn’t take me up on it.”

  “Well, I sure hope it works out. You know…” Dolores gazed at him over the rim of her glasses. “You two would make quite the handsome couple.”

  Luke groaned, pushing himself up from the floor, much to Banjo’s annoyance. “Don’t start, DeeDee. You know I don’t have time to date right now. In fact, I’m heading over to Jack’s diner so I can look over a vendor contract for him. Some new, fancy steak house in Primrose Valley wants to serve his special barbecue sauce. Can I grab you anything for lunch while I’m there?”

  Dolores pursed her lips. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, changing the subject like that.” Her features softened. “And no, thank you. Banjo and I still have leftovers of the yummy casserole your mom dropped off last night.”

  Luke smiled. That was just like Maggie Davis. It wasn’t enough she ran her own bakery. She still had to cook for everyone in town. “Okay, then. I should be back in an hour. Bill Tucker is coming by later this afternoon. If I’m not back by then, you know what to do.”

  “Ask him about Peggy Sue.”

  Bill Tucker couldn’t resist bragging about his prize pig. Grinning, Luke tugged the front door open, letting in a rush of cold air. “See you later.”

  “Luke,” Dolores called out after him. “About you and Edie’s granddaughter… think about it, okay?”

  Luke sighed. His problem would be trying not to think about it.

  Chapter 3

  As the car crunched down the narrow gravel lane and approached the clearing at the end, Cassie gasped in spite of herself. The quaint Victorian-style cottage looked like the prettiest girl at the party with her pristine white siding and inviting front porch complete with twin rocking chairs.

  “Don’t get any ideas,” Cassie told the house as she hip-checked the driver’s door shut. “I don’t care how cute you are. I’m still going to sell you to the highest bidder.”

  Cassie popped open the trunk of her blueberry-colored Prius and hauled out her enormous suitcase. As promised, she’d returned to Poppy Creek the morning of December 1, prepared to fulfill her contractual obligations. With any luck, the next twenty-four days would fly by quickly. If the Calendar didn’t drive her completely crazy first. Already, visions of unsavory sugar plums danced in her head.

  Lugging her suitcase up the drive, Cassie tried to ignore the whimsical and endearing details of the house, like the exquisite corbels, intricate gingerbread trim, and stunning bay window with a perfect view of the walnut tree.

  “It’s not going to work,” she insisted. “As soon as I sign the deed, you’re going on the market. Maybe some yuppie couple with two point five kids and a Goldendoodle will buy you.”

  The porch steps creaked in protest as Cassie trudged to the front door where she was greeted by the cheerful, cherry-red paint. And if that wasn’t bad enough, a welcome mat announced There’s No Place Like Home.

  “You’re really laying it on thick, aren’t you?” Cassie dug the key out of the small envelope Luke had given her and jammed it into the brass lock. As the front door swung open, her heart plummeted to her stomach.

  The inside of the cottage was even more enticing than the outside. A discovery Cassie found unsettling. Her mother never shared details of her childhood or the home where she grew up. But based on impressions Cassie gleaned—mainly from the haunted expression her mother wore whenever Cassie asked about it—she always pictured the house from Hitchcock’s Psycho. Nothing like what lay before her.

  Stepping into the foyer felt like stepping back in time. Ornate molding, a winding staircase, and a striking open-hearth fireplace taunted Cassie with their perfection. And to make matters worse, everything about the decor invoked a feeling of warmth, coziness, and welcome—from the lush vintage furniture to the homey touches of antique collectibles and bric-a-brac.

  At first glance, Cassie marveled at how her mother could have left a place so charming and idyllic. But, if her track record had taught her anything, Cassie knew things that looked too good to be true usually were.

  As Cassie’s heels clattered across the worn parquet floor, she wondered how many times her mother had traveled the same path, enveloped by similar scents of lemon wood polish and dried lavender.

  Directly off the living room, she found a kitchen so lovely, Betty Crocker herself would have been jealous. And although Cassie barely knew how to boil water, she could almost picture herself baking an apple pie in the 1930s mint-green oven.

  Setting her oversize handbag on the butcher block island, Cassie retrieved her most prized possession: a polished silver French press, lovingly wrapped in a swath of crushed velvet for safe traveling. She placed a portable hand grinder next to it, followed by a bag of Colombian Supremo—a splurge courtesy of her favorite artisan roaster.

  Considering she still had to settle in and start day one of the Christmas Calendar, which had her decorating the entire cottage, inside and out, Cassie would need all the caffeine she could reasonably consume without triggering a heart attack.

  Given her experience with the town lawyer, she could only imagine the eccentricity she’d encounter in the doctor’s office.

  At least Cassie could think of one perk of being stuck in Poppy Creek.

  Derek Price would never find her here.

  * * *<
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  As Luke’s ancient faded-red Ford pickup rolled up the gravel lane toward the cottage, a shallow sigh escaped his lips as memories washed over him.

  For as long as he could remember, Edith Hayward had been on her own. Which meant Luke’s father came by every Saturday—often dragging Luke along—to trim her rosebushes, restock her supply of firewood, and rake the leaves in the fall. Ever since his dad’s passing, Luke maintained the weekly tradition, joining Edith afterward for a slice of mulberry pie and pleasant conversation.

  Even after she was gone, Luke came by every Saturday afternoon to pull a few weeds or prune the walnut tree. He couldn’t bear to see Edith’s home fall into disrepair. For the same reason, his mother, Maggie, popped by every now and then to dust the banister or fluff the pillows. In a way, it meant they didn’t have to say goodbye.

  Luke pulled up behind Cassie’s Prius and shifted into park.

  Now, someone new would be taking over the beloved cottage. And more than a tiny part of Luke hoped it would be Edith’s granddaughter.

  His eyes drifted to the insulated thermos lying on the worn upholstery of his passenger seat, and his lips curled into a smile. Despite his busy schedule, he hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Cassie Hayward since the moment he’d caught her spitting coffee into her thermos. Even now, the vision of her flushed cheeks and captivating green eyes made his stomach flip-flop. A fact he found baffling. He’d seen plenty of beautiful women in his thirty-one years. Many, right here in Poppy Creek. Why this one set his pulse on overdrive, he couldn’t figure out. But lucky for him, she’d left the accessory to her crime behind, giving him an excuse to stop by.

  Luke hopped out of the truck and grabbed the thermos and a welcome basket, courtesy of his mother. She’d stuffed it full of local favorites like a bottle of Jack’s BBQ sauce, a plate of her jumbo-sized cinnamon rolls, and a jar of The Buttercup Bistro’s Mother Lode Stew, which was a secret family recipe. One Luke still wasn’t privy to, even after dating the owner’s daughter.