Love Finds You in North Pole, Alaska (14 page)

Uncapping the peroxide bottle, he saturated a cotton ball, saying, “This won’t hurt. Much.” And grinning, he stroked the antiseptic across the still-bleeding gash. Satisfied he’d sterilized the area, Bryce unwrapped a bandage and squeezed a tiny glob of ointment onto its pad then wrapped it around her finger. Turning her hand over, he gave it a gentle pat. “There. All better.”

She held his gaze for a long, silent moment, making him wish he had Olive’s talent for reading minds.

“Thanks, boss,” she said, smiling. And before he could blink, or return her smile, or respond with a sincere, “You’re welcome,” she was on her feet, returning the supplies to their proper places in the first-aid kit.

“I’ll finish up here,” he said, taking over. “You just sit there and look pretty.” He would have slapped a hand to his forehead for saying such a stupid thing if he hadn’t been holding the first-aid kit.

Either she hadn’t heard his comment or chose to ignore it. “I can at least dry stuff and put it away,” she said matter-of-factly.

“You don’t know where anything goes,” he pointed out, “but I do. I’ll have this place fit for a general’s inspection in no time, so just park it and keep me company.”

Instead of following orders, Sam stood on his left side and grabbed the dishtowel. “You can put stuff away,” she said.

“What’s wrong with you? Don’t you know how to relax?”

“I’ll have you know I helped write
The Couch Potato Manual
.” Shrugging, she added, “I guess I’m too hyped to sit still right now. It isn’t every day a girl gets to witness another girl getting, you know, engaged.” She let out a long, wistful sigh. “Didn’t Olive look happy?”

Don’t
you
look happy
, he thought, wishing she’d move to his right side, because in order to look into her pretty face, he had to twist his neck until his chin nearly touched his shoulder. Small price to pay, admittedly, but—

“Can you imagine how relieved she must be,” she said, crossing to his other side, “to finally have this big fat secret out in the open? I can’t imagine how tough it must have been, keeping all this from you for such a long time.”

Bryce couldn’t help but like her a little more for being sensitive enough to meet his unspoken need by moving to his right. “When did she tell you her ‘big fat secret’?”

“Couple weeks ago, maybe?” A giggle, and then, “You should have seen her, Bryce. Every time the subject came up, she lit up like a Christmas tree.”

All of a sudden, Sam stood up straight. “Speaking of which, what’s this I hear about you hating Christmas? She was kidding, right?”

If he had a dollar for every time he’d heard this lecture, he could probably buy that top-of-the-line table sander he’d been drooling over. “I don’t hate Christmas,” he droned, “it’s the
over-commercialization
that I hate.” He focused on the roasting pan, scrubbing a little harder as he pictured gaudy decorations and flashing lights so common in North Pole. “People get so wrapped up in all the noise and glitter that they forget the real meaning of the season.”

“Well, I
love
Christmas. And believe it or not, I manage to love all the noise and glitter
without
forgetting the real meaning of the season.”

Bryce grunted softly then wished he hadn’t, because it caused her to take a step away from him, and from this distance, he could no longer smell the delicious fragrance of her perfume. Or her shampoo. Or whatever feminine product had been responsible for the sweet aroma of peaches. “Maybe if you’d grown up around it your whole life, you’d feel differently.”

“Oh, I seriously doubt that!” And to prove it, she rattled off a long list of things she and her mother did every year to commemorate the holiday, from wrapping the exterior of her house with lights to lining every interior surface with seasonal knickknacks. “We’re in church on Christmas Eve
and
Christmas morning. And it’s always been a family tradition to bake a birthday cake for the Baby Jesus. There are the normal prayers before the big feast, of course, and when it’s time for dessert, everybody gathers around the table and sings ‘Happy Birthday’ to Him. And the youngest person there—usually me—gets to blow out the candle.”

He tried to imagine what life might have been like if his childhood had included such family traditions. Maybe if he’d had a few rowdy brothers of his own, his attitude about Christmas—and lots of other things—would have been different. “Might’ve been nice, growing up in a house like yours,” he admitted, “with half a dozen brothers to wrestle with.”

“I have girl cousins who would think I’m nuts to say so, but I loved it.” She described how her brothers delighted in chasing her through the house, trying to scare her with worms and frogs and lizards…until her mom suggested she dig in her heels and pretend she liked the wriggling critters every bit as much as the boys did. “I thought I’d pass out the first time I put her advice to the test,” she admitted, “but it worked!” Laughing, Sam said, “Guess I figured out earlier than other kids that moms really do know best. Most of the time, anyway.”

“Sounds like you have a terrific family.”

She nodded and then her face lit up as if she’d found a puppy under the Christmas tree. “You’ll have a chance to meet one of my brothers in a day or two. Bill—he’s the one closest to my age—is coming to spend a few days with me!”

“That’s great. Maybe we can take a day off, show him a good time.”
Idiot!
he chastised mentally.
How’s spending
more
time with her gonna help you keep a safe distance?

“I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more,” she said. And if that delighted expression on her face was any indicator, she’d meant every word.

Not good, he decided. Not good at all.

Olive had said from the start that she wanted a simple ceremony with only a few of her closest friends in attendance. So Sam, thinking it would take no time at all to make favors for the reception, the bouquets for the bride and matron of honor, and boutonnieres for the groom and best man, volunteered her time. But even if she’d known that “a few” meant nearly a hundred guests, the crafty task would still have been part of her gift to Olive and Duke.

Two days after the big announcement, Sam began assembling the favors. Two chocolate kisses, their flat sides together, were wrapped in a square of red cellophane and attached to green florists’ wire. And the evening before the wedding, she got started on the bouquets and boutonnieres. The ceremony would take place at nine in the morning, and she didn’t have a minute to waste.

Never a traditionalist, Olive had pooh-poohed a typical arrangement. “Can you make something like this?” she’d asked, her voice a-twitter and her eyes alight as she pointed at a glossy photo in her favorite decorating magazine.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” Sam had said, admiring the collection of Texas wildflowers tied up with a wide satin bow. In Baltimore, there were half a dozen florist supply houses where she could find prairie larkspur, mountain pink, basket flowers, and surprise lilies. She’d never given it a thought that the blossoms Olive had fallen in love with while visiting Duke on his ranch would be so hard to come by in Alaska! All it had taken was one quick call to her mom, who’d pulled in a favor from a friend whose husband made weekly deliveries to Fairbanks. Sam was grinning to herself at how God provided for His children when she heard Bryce puttering in the kitchen. “Do I smell coffee?” she called through the open door.

He peeked into her living room. “You want a cup when it’s—For the love of Pete, what are you
doing
?” he asked, surveying the flowery mess.

“Those,” she said, pointing, “are the favors we’ll give everybody at the reception. And these,” she added, patting the boutonnieres, “are what you and Duke will wear for the ceremony.” Sam held up the bridal bouquet. “I guess you know what this is.”

“A handful of weeds, looks like to me,” he teased.

“Very funny. If you knew what I went through to get them, you wouldn’t say that!”

Ambling into the room, he pocketed both hands. “Haven’t been in here in ages.” And glancing around, he nodded. “You’ve done wonders with the place.”

Sam didn’t want him knowing that such a little compliment from him could turn her cheeks hot, so she bent down to retrieve bits of cellophane and wire that had fallen from her work table. “Just a little paint and some new curtains.”

“And slipcovers, and bric-a-brac and—”

She laughed. “ ‘Bric-a-brac’? Reminds me of something my grandmother used to say. How old
are
you, anyway?”

“Old enough to command a little more respect from a whippersnapper like you,” he countered, grinning.

“I can hardly believe that in just a matter of days, my brother will be here. I’m so excited, I could pop!”

“Olive told me you have a birthday coming up, so it’s good you’ll have family here to help you celebrate it.”

“I have no idea what we’ll do—to celebrate, I mean—but you’re more than welcome to join us. I’ll probably make his favorite—lasagna—and my favorite, hot fudge sundaes….”

“Haven’t you ever heard that three’s a crowd?”

Sam waved the idea away. “Fiddlesticks. That only pertains to romantic stuff.”

Bryce coughed. “Ah, the coffee should be done by now. Want a cup?”

“Only if it’s high-test. Something tells me I’ll need it to help me stay awake so I can finish this stuff in time for the wedding.”

“Decaf has never passed these lips,” he said. “At least, not to my knowledge.” He glanced at the clock. “It’s going on ten. You sure you want ‘high-test’ this late at night?”

“One sugar, two creams,” she said. “And thanks!”

Sam could hear him out in the kitchen, rummaging in the cupboard for mugs and spoons. The homey sounds brought a smile to her face, because despite his effort to keep up a big bad marine image, Bryce had a domestic side, too.

“So when is this brother of yours supposed to roll into town?” he said, holding two steaming mugs of coffee.

“Day after tomorrow. Pity he’ll miss the wedding, but he couldn’t get here any sooner. Seems a teacher friend of his got sick, and Bill took over the guy’s summer school classes.”

“Is he staying at the hotel?”

“No way. Family loyalty forbids it!” She giggled. “He’ll sleep right here on my sofa bed, of course.” She shoved bits of ribbon and flower petals aside to make room for their coffee. “There. Take a load off.”

After placing both mugs amid stem cuttings, wire, and coils of white satin ribbon, Bryce dragged the desk chair over and plopped onto its seat. “I don’t know how to tell you this, but that isn’t a sofa bed.”

Sam held her breath. “It…it isn’t?”

“Sorry,” he said again.

“No problem,” she told him, thinking out loud. “I’ll just give Bill my room and sleep out here myself. No way he’d get any decent rest on a couch. His shoulders are almost as broad as yo—”

Sam caught herself a tick too late. If she could’ve stuffed the words back into her mouth, she would have done it.

Flexing his arm muscles, Bryce laughed. “Guess all those hours lifting weights and doing push-ups paid off. Thanks for noticing.”

Heart hammering, Sam swallowed.
Dear Lord
, she prayed,
help me find something even remotely intelligent to say, so he won’t think I’ve got a big fat schoolgirl crush on him
! She sat staring into his unblinking brown eye, waiting for the witty retort God would put into her head. When nothing came, it led her to wonder whether she
did
have a big fat schoolgirl crush on him!

“So what are you wearing tomorrow?” If she hadn’t been holding knife-sharp scissors in one hand and a pointy florists wire in the other, she might have thumped herself in the head. What a stupid question to ask a guy who’d spent years in military fatigues, up to his knees in grit and dust. Besides, Duke had chosen Bryce to stand in as best man, since his own son couldn’t get to North Pole on such short notice, so of course he’d wear a tuxedo. The image of Bryce in one of those pleated white shirts, sporting shiny black buttons and cuff links, was enough to make her sigh out loud. Thankfully, she didn’t. “Personally? I can’t decide between a yellow chiffon pantsuit and a pink dress.”
Good grief, Sam
, she scolded,
will you just shut up
!

“By all means, the dress. I’ve seen you in pink, and the color becomes you. Besides, you have great legs. Why hide ’em under pants?”

Now honestly, how did he expect her to react to
that
? There he sat, not three feet from her, looking all handsome and alluring with his black patch and confident grin, doling out compliments that would’ve curled her hair…if it weren’t curly already. Sam reached for her coffee and took a sip, recoiling when the taste was too sweet, too creamy, and way too hot.

Bryce wrinkled his nose. “Sorry,” he said for the third time. “Guess I didn’t add enough fixings in, eh?”

He looked so disappointed that Sam couldn’t help but say, “No, it’s fine. Just a little hot is all.” And to prove it, she fanned her mouth. “So you’ve picked up your tux?”

“Yeah, ’fraid so.” Leaning back in the chair, he tilted his face toward the ceiling and groaned. “Every time I’ve worn one for a friend’s wedding, I’ve ended up losing the cummerbund or one of those goofy button covers and forfeiting some of my deposit. And I just
hate
those crazy shirts.”