Love Finds You in North Pole, Alaska (9 page)

Dan didn’t sit down but remained standing beside the table. “Sorry to eat and run,” he said, “but something’s come up, and I need to go.” He laid a hand on Bryce’s shoulder. “It’s good knowing you survived Afghanistan.”

Bryce poked two beefy fingers through the handle of his mug and said a gruff, “Thanks.”

“I’ve already taken care of the check, so take your time. Enjoy.”

Sam sat up straighter. “But what about…whatever it was you wanted to tell me?”

Dan fished a business card from his shirt pocket. “Another time, Samantha. And really…I’m sorry for any trouble that little mix-up over the chef position caused you.” One knee on the bench facing hers, he reached across the table and took her hand. After pressing the business card into her palm, he added, “I promise to make it up to you.” And closing her fingers over the card, he kissed her knuckles. “I’m dead serious about that flight to Paris, so if you get a hankering for escargot, you know how to reach me.”

And with that, he was gone.

Sam stared at the slick photo of his hotel and the line beneath it that read,
Daniel Garrett Brooks, President and CEO
. Despite the fancy title, she had no desire to go to Paris—or anywhere else, for that matter—with the man!

“Looks to me like you’ve turned Danny boy’s head,” Bryce said, smiling around a bite of egg.

Sam slapped Dan’s card onto the table, wondering why in the world it would make any difference to Bryce, one way or the other. “Excuse me,” she said, “but I need to get back to work.”

He slid from the booth and stood at the end of the table as she got to her feet. Slinging her purse over one shoulder, she faced the lobby. “See you at the shop,
boss
.”

Sam could almost feel his eyes, drilling tiny holes into her back as she half-ran toward the door. A mental image of herself tripping over the restaurant’s long red welcome mat slowed her pace. The last thing she wanted was to give Bryce yet another bit of evidence for his “Why Sam’s too Ditzy to Manage the Shop” list.

When Bryce entered the shop shortly after closing time, the breath caught in his throat, because there stood Sam at the top of a twelve-foot stepladder, reaching for something at the back of a high shelf.

“Are you out of your ever-loving mind?” he thundered as the door slammed shut behind him. “Get down from there before you—”

Eyes wide with fright, her arms windmilled as she struggled to retain her balance. If he’d known that the sound of his voice would startle her that badly, he never would have burst into the store, roaring like an irate lion. If she fell from that height, she’d break her pretty neck. Not to mention the thousands of dollars’ worth of crystal and porcelain Christmas garden houses she’d take with her.

Bryce made it from the door to the base of the wobbling ladder in three quick strides, steadying it with one hand as the other wrapped around her slender ankle. Rudolph’s clocks chose that instant to announce the six o’clock hour, and he hoped the rhythmic harmony would drown out the sound of his hard-hammering heart.

“I’ll get down,” she said through clenched teeth, “just as soon as you let go of my ankle.”

Until she mentioned it, Bryce hadn’t even realized he’d grabbed it. He swallowed, hard, and released her. “You scared me half to death,” he admitted as she made her way down the rickety rungs, “swinging around up there like a monkey in a zoo.”

Once both feet were on steady ground, she glared up at him. “I was
fine
until you blasted in here like a bull in a china shop.”

“Could’ve fooled me.”

Hands on her hips, Sam’s eyes flashed. “I’m going to go out on a limb here and assume you had only the best of intentions. But do me a favor, will you? Next time you’re tempted to play the hero, make sure the person you’re rescuing
needs
rescuing!”

Playing hero? Out on a limb? Bryce turned his back to her. He didn’t know whether he felt embarrassed or annoyed by her attitude…or both. “Of all the ungrateful—”

She darted around and faced him head-on. “Excuse me?” It was almost comical, the way she stood glaring up at him.

Almost.

If he hadn’t come into the store when he had, no telling what might have happened to her. Bryce had no intention of apologizing for saving her from certain doom. But he had no desire to stand here bickering with her about it, either. “Have you balanced the checkbook for this month?”

Sam blinked, looking a bit baffled by his sudden change of subject. “What?” She stiffened her spine and lifted her chin in defiance. “Of course I have,” she snapped, “and you’re more than welcome to double-check my math.”

He’d heard it said that some women wore their anger well, but he’d never seen proof of it before now. Much as he hated to admit it, she
did
look gorgeous all riled up.

Bryce clapped a hand to the back of his neck and shook his head. He didn’t know why, but he wanted to wrap her in a fierce hug, kiss the daylights out of her, and tell her how glad he was that she was safe and sound. And if she didn’t quit looking at him that way, he might just do it. Instead, he cleared his throat and barked, “So where is it?”

“You mean the checkbook?”

He didn’t trust himself to speak.

“It’s in the drawer under the cash register. Right where your aunt Olive has kept it for years.”

Which he’d know, her remark implied, if he’d helped out a little more around here. Somehow he found the gumption to walk away from her. Within minutes, he’d found the checkbook and made a point of focusing on its pages as she puttered in the shop.

It wasn’t easy, concentrating on debits and credits, with her passing back and forth, dusting this, polishing that, and standing back to squint at her artfully balanced arrangements, but somehow Bryce managed to make a sizeable mess around the cash register. It didn’t escape his notice how quickly Sam’s bad mood evaporated. Debbie’s snits could last hours—if not days. Not Sam! Within minutes, she was back to her usual smiling, happy self, humming along to the Christmas tunes blaring from the store’s speakers as she went about her work.

He hadn’t
needed
an hour to double-check her math, but because he couldn’t come up with another excuse to hang around and watch her work, he’d gone over every entry a half dozen times. As much as he hated to, Bryce eventually pushed back from the counter. After their set-to earlier, she’d probably decided he was a boor and a brute, and if he sat much longer, pretending to be engrossed by addition and subtraction, she’d see him as math-challenged, too.

“Things looks good,” he said, standing.

She’d been putting price stickers on mice in Santa hats and looked up to say, “Sorry.”

Sorry? Bryce didn’t get it, and said so.

“Well, the way you were poring over those figures, I naturally presumed you were
trying
to find a mistake.” And grinning, she shrugged. “So…sorry to disappoint you.”

“I’m not disappointed.” He could tell by the tilt of her head and raised eyebrows that she wanted more. “Good work?”
Aw, man,
he said to himself,
why’d it come out like a question?

“Uh, thanks,” she said and went back to work.

Bryce realized she’d been at it alone for twelve straight hours, maybe more. “So, where’s Olive today?” he asked.

Sam stepped up beside him to tuck the price stickers into the drawer where the checkbook was kept. “She had some errands to run, so I gave her the day off.”

“
You
gave
her
the day off? But you’re—”

Facing him, she narrowed her eyes. “Got a problem with my management style, Mr. Stone?”

He watched her gaze flick from his good eye to the bad one and back again, as if oblivious to the fact that the left one was blind. The thing made most people so uncomfortable, they looked anywhere
except
at the patch. “As somebody who used to order tough guys around twenty-four-seven, I can honestly say you’re doing just fine.” He didn’t add that Sam had just herself and Olive to “manage.”

In place of the “thank you” he expected, Sam groaned and then pointed at the shelf above the cash register. “Oh, for cryin’ out loud, would you look at that?”

He followed her gaze but saw nothing that should inspire her obvious frustration. Even before he managed to ask, she’d dragged the stepladder behind the counter and started climbing. When it started wobbling again, she grabbed the shelf for balance

“I declare, Sam, you’ll be the death of me yet.” Hands on the rails, he steadied the ladder as she tidied the colorful cookie tins. “There!” she said, making her way back to the floor. On solid ground again, she propped both hands on her hips. “So what’s on your schedule tomorrow?”

He felt like a giant, standing there looking down into her pretty face. “I, uh, well, um…”
A giant
idiot
, Bryce thought, and after clearing his throat, he tried again. “Why do you ask?”

“I thought maybe if you had a few minutes, you could pop over to the hardware store and buy a
new
ladder. But if you don’t have time, I can probably—”

“Are you kidding? That’s the—” He almost said “smartest thing” but thought better of it. “That’s the best idea you’ve had yet. I’ll
make
time.”

Sam inhaled a little gasp and clasped both hands under her chin. “A fifteen-footer—aluminum, if they have one, because it’ll be easier to tote around—with one of those shelf thingies on top where I can put stuff.”

Bryce figured this must have been how she looked on Christmas morning, when she found doll-babies and ruffly dresses and other things under the Sinclair family tree. For a reason Bryce couldn’t explain, he suddenly wanted to promise her a puppy, or a boat, or dinner in Paris if it would guarantee a repeat of that happy, eager expression. “I’ll, ah…I’ll see what’s available,” he said instead.

“Thanks,” she said, giving his chest a playful jab, “you’re the best!”

He was about to ask, “The best what?” when she hid an enormous yawn behind her small hand.

“Okay, that’s it for me. See you in the morning, b—”

“Bryce,” he interrupted, “not ‘boss,’ okay?”

She half-ran toward the stairs leading to their apartments and stopped in the doorway. “Whatever you say,” she tossed over her shoulder, “
boss
.”

He didn’t know how long, exactly, he stood at the bottom of the steps, gawking up at the empty stairwell, but Bryce knew this: he liked the way he felt when she was around. Liked it
a lot
.

As a little girl, Sam had dreamed of the day a brave knight would rescue her from her prison in a high tower, but she never would have guessed he’d wear blue jeans and a black eye patch! It made her smile, despite Bryce’s stern demeanor, because it wasn’t likely the marines had trained him to save damsels…on high ladders.

She’d spent a fitful night reliving those moments in the shop when he’d stopped the ladder from tipping…and likely saved her from a broken bone or two. But it wasn’t just the memory of his protective actions that had kept her awake. It was also the on his handsome face that told her he’d been genuinely concerned for her safety. Could his aunt have been right when she’d said God brought Sam to North Pole to teach Bryce to love Christmas, and his home town, and the peculiar little gift shop known by all as Rudolph’s?
look
she’d seen

Olive had said something else that day, and Sam wondered if it was possible that Bryce would learn to love
her,
too.

“You’re crazy,” she mumbled. Because she barely knew the guy, and he hardly knew her. He was still reeling from a badly ended romance, and so was she. But even if one or both of them was open to new love, what did they have in common, except for Rudolph’s and a fondness for Olive?

Sam didn’t like the thoughts that had been tumbling in her head all day long as she worked in the shop. Didn’t like them at all. Because her tendency to fall too hard, too fast, was responsible for every one of a half dozen disappointing relationships. But she wasn’t that silly high school girl or naive college student anymore. No way she intended to suffer that kind of heartache again!