Authors: Ruth Logan Herne
For some crazy reason, Jason got the feeling she was trying to determine if he was unattached. He couldn't imagine why she cared, but women were funny that way. A guy just asked you straight out if you were seeing someone, while a woman skirted the direct route and snuck in sideways. One of the many reasons he avoided getting tangled up with anyone in particular. He liked his nice, uncomplicated life just the way it was. Dramaâespecially female dramaâhe could do without.
Recognizing she was in a tight spot, in the spirit of the season he decided to give her a break and not yank her chain. “My shopping's done, so I don't need the money.”
Her dainty mouth fell open in a shocked O. “Are you serious? Everyone needs money.”
“I've got a little more than enough.” Grinning, he added, “And I don't have a...whoever, so I'm good.”
That got her attention, and he watched curiosity flare in those stunning eyes of hers. Crystal-blue, with a lighter burst in the center, they made him think of stars. Wisps of light brown hair had escaped her loose bun, framing her face in a halo of curls. Dressed in pale gray trousers and a white sweater, she brought to mind the angel on top of his parents' Christmas tree.
Dangerous, he cautioned himself. It was okay to admire a woman in a general way, but when he started comparing her to heavenly beings, it was time to take a giant step back and get a grip. Then again, the adorable ballerina she'd once been had stayed in his memory for twenty years. Gazing down at her now, he saw none of the joy on display in the framed photos on the wall. In its place was a lingering sadness that tugged at his heart, making him want to come up with a way to make her smile like that again.
And so, against his better judgment, he held out his hand. “I'm your guy, Amy. I promise not to let you down.”
She looked at his hand warily, then said, “The last time a man said that to me, it didn't end so well.”
Laced with wry humor, her comment made him laugh. “He was a moron, and if I knew his name, I'd go tell him so.”
She studied him for a long moment, then her somber expression lightened just a little. It was such a subtle change, he couldn't help wondering if she'd actually forgotten how to smile. “You know, I believe you. I'm not sure why, but I do.”
“About the talking-to or about not letting you down?”
“Both.”
Taking his hand, she sealed their deal with a shake that was surprisingly firm for someone so petite. Jason got the distinct impression that something important had just happened to him, but he wasn't exactly sure what it was. One thing was certain: he wouldn't be bored this Christmas.
The thought had just floated through his head when the sound of jingling bells announced another visitor at the front door. When he glanced over, he had to look twice. From where he stood, it looked like a larger-than-life nutcracker in a flashy soldier's uniform was bobbing through the large front room on its way toward the stage. When it got closer, he was relieved to see that underneath it were very human feet, clad in tie-dyed sneakers that were a dead giveaway about who'd come in.
“Hey, you,” he greeted Jenna Reed, the town's resident artist, with a chuckle. “Who's your friend?”
When she set it down, he noticed it was almost as tall as Amy. “The nutcracker prince, of course. He's not as big as the signs I made for the sawmill, but he's got a lot more personality.” Turning to Amy, she said, “I know he's not up to the standards you're used to in the Big Apple, but what do you think?”
“It's perfect for this show,” Amy replied with an approving smile. “And you shouldn't sell yourself short. This guy is just what I had in mind.”
“Awesome.” Jenna eyed Jason with curiosity. “No offense, JB, but I'm used to seeing you out at the mill. You look a little outta place in here.”
“Finishing up Fred's sets.”
“I forgot he hurt himself tackling your nephew,” she said to Amy. “How's he doing?”
“Aunt Helen has all she can manage just keeping him off his feet,” Amy explained with a sigh. “The doctor said he needs to take it easy for at least a couple of weeks. It's only been two days, and he's already driving her crazy.”
Jason knew how he'd feel if he was laid up for that long, and inspiration struck. “Maybe I can knock down some of the pieces for him to assemble and paint at home. That'll give him something to do, and your aunt can keep her sanity.”
Amy stared up at him with an expression he couldn't quite peg, and he worried that he might've overstepped his bounds. Then she gave him a grateful smile, as if he'd come up with the answer to every problem she'd ever faced. Knowing he'd been the one to coax a smile from this troubled woman made him feel like a hero.
“That's brilliant,” she said, “but are you sure you want to do that? I mean, you'd be making more work for yourself.”
He shrugged. “No big deal. If he's happy, maybe he'll heal up quicker and get back to the garage where he belongs.”
“And out of Aunt Helen's hair,” she added with a nod. “I like the way you think.”
They were still staring at each other when Jenna interrupted with a not-so-subtle cough. When she had their attention, she shook her head. “Are you sure you guys just met?”
“More or less,” Jason hedged, figuring Amy wouldn't appreciate him relating their first-meet story from twenty years ago.
“That's funny, 'cause from where I'm standing, you've got that âknown each other awhile' vibe.”
“That's crazy,” Amy huffed. “Not to mention impossible.”
The artist laughed. “I call 'em like I see 'em. Anyway, at least this time you stumbled across one of the good guys.”
“I thought they went extinct years ago.” There was more than a hint of bitterness in Amy's tone, and he couldn't help wondering what had really happened with her ex. Not that it impacted him in any way, of course. He was just curious.
“Not around here,” Jenna corrected her. “I think this is where they all landed.”
“I'll have to take your word on that one,” Amy retorted as she passed by on her way to somewhere behind the stage that dominated the studio. “I've got your check in the office. I'll be right back.”
Once she was out of earshot, Jenna stepped in closer to Jason. “I've gotten to know Amy since she landed here in town this summer, so I'm gonna do you a favor.”
Every trace of humor had left her expression, and he returned the somber look. “What kinda favor?”
“Leave the poor girl alone. You're not interested in anything serious, and she's had a really rough time the last couple years. She's not up to any more heartache.”
“The accident, you mean.”
Jenna's eyes widened in surprise. “She told you?”
When he repeated the gist of his earlier conversation with Amy, Jenna slowly shook her head. “I knew her a month before she told me any of that stuff. How did you get her to open up so fast?”
“It's a knack,” he replied with a grin. “People like me.”
“Uh-huh. Well, watch yourself, big guy. Amy's been through a lot of twists and turns, and her head's still spinning. The last thing she needs is more trouble.”
“Trouble?” he echoed in mock surprise. “From me?”
“Don't get me started,” she grumbled, as Amy reappeared at the back of the stage with her check. Jenna took it and without even glancing at it shoved it into the back pocket of her paint-spattered overalls. “Well, kids, it's been fun, but I left my kiln going. The thermostat's busted, so if I don't keep an eye on it, it'll burn my whole studio down. Later.”
After the door jingled shut behind her, Amy gave him a knowing feminine look. “She likes you.”
“She likes everybody. When you're a freelance artist, it's good for business.”
“Are you seriously telling me you're not the least bit interested in her? She's gorgeous and perky, and more fun than any three people I know.”
“You're right about all that,” he agreed, “which is why Jenna and I are friends. But she treats me like an annoying little brother, and that's fine with me.”
“Why? I mean, most guys I know would fall all over themselves to get her attention.”
In the cynical comment, he got a glimpse of who Amy had become while she'd been working so hard to establish her career. To his mind, it seemed as if she hadn't enjoyed herself all that much since her early dancing days, at least not on a personal level.
Obviously, she'd spent way too much time with losers who didn't know a remarkable woman when one was standing right in front of them. Sensing an opportunity to distinguish himself from them, he grinned down at her. “Well, I'm not like those guys. Before this show opens, I'm gonna do everything I can to make you believe that.”
Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, and she frowned. “You met me an hour ago. Why do you even care?”
“I just do,” he replied easily, because he honestly meant it. “But if you need more of a reason, call it Christmas spirit.”
With that, he began strolling toward the rear of the stage, stopping when she called out his name. Turning, he said, “Yeah?”
“You're starting now?”
“Molly filled Paul and me up with one of her farmer's breakfasts, so I'm ready to go. Thought I'd start by knocking down some of those bigger pieces that are already put together. Then I'll haul 'em over to Fred's so he can get started painting. Then I'll come back and we can go over whatever plans you've got for getting all this done. Is that okay with you?”
Clearly bewildered by his quick pace, she slowly nodded. “Thank you.”
“No problem.”
She rewarded him with a timid smile, the kind that could sneak into a man's head and make him forget all kinds of things. Like how he needed to be careful around this woman, because she was fragile and needed time to heal.
The problem was, something about Amy Morgan tugged at the edges of his restless heart in a way no woman ever had. And in spite of his misgivings, he wasn't convinced he should even try to keep her out.
Chapter Two
“S
he does good work,” Amy commented, moving to the side to study the brightly painted nutcracker sign from another angle. “When Jenna and I first got to know each other, I was surprised there was such a talented artist here in Barrett's Mill.”
“Must've been nice to find another creative type to hang with out here in the boonies.”
He'd nailed her feelings so exactly, she gaped at him in amazement. With his rugged appearance and carefree attitude, she'd never have guessed he'd be so perceptive. It made her wonder what other qualities might be hiding behind that wide-open grin.
Pushing those very personal observations from her mind, she dragged herself back to the task at hand. “I have to start advertising the show right away, so I'd like to get this guy set up out front. Would you mind helping with that?”
“'Course not.” Picking up the sign, he tucked it under his arm and motioned her past. “After you.”
The rough-and-tumble streets of Washington and New York had left her accustomed to fending for herself. Men didn't typically defer to her this way, and she found his gentlemanly gesture charming.
Southern boys,
she mused as she walked through the studio. She could get used to this.
Out front, she stopped to the left of the door. “I thought he'd look best here, next to the window. What do you think?”
That got her a bright, male laugh, the kind that sounded as if it got plenty of use. “I'm about as far from a decorator as you can get. Lumber, saws, hammers, that's me. You're better off following your own gut on this one.”
His innocent comment landed on her bruised heart like a fist, reminding her of the last time she'd followed her gutâand the unmitigated disaster it had led her into. If only she'd kept to her original course instead of taking that shortcut, she'd still be on her way to becoming principal ballerina for an international company. Never again would she deviate from the plan, she promised herself for the hundredth time. Improvising had cost her everything.
Swallowing her exaggerated reaction to his advice, she focused on identifying the perfect location for her sign. Jason set it in place, and she considered it for a moment, then shook her head. “Jenna made him double-sided on purpose, and I want to make sure people get a good view of him from the sidewalk and the street. The idea is to draw them in so they'll look at the other decorations and the playbill in the window. Try angling him this way.”
Demonstrating with her hands, she waited and then reassessed. “Now he's too much toward the studio.”
After several more attempts, Jason plunked the sign on the paved walkway and rested an arm on top of his Cossack's helmet. “You're kidding, right? We've tipped this thing every way but upside down. You're seriously telling me we haven't hit the right spot yet?”
“There's no point in doing something imperfectly,” she shot back in self-defense.
He gazed at her thoughtfully, and she got the eerie feeling he could see things she'd rather keep to herself. “That doesn't sound like something someone our age would say. Who taught you that?”
“My mother. And she's right, by the way. Perfection is the only goal for a balleriâballet teachers.”
In a heartbeat, his confused expression shifted to one of sympathy, and he frowned. “You were gonna say
ballerina,
weren't you?”
“I misspoke. Now, are you going to help me finish this, or should I do it myself?”
He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. “You don't want folks feeling sorry for you, I get that. Your life's taken a nasty turn, and I respect what you're doing to get it back together.” Moving a step closer, he added, “But you're here now, and you don't have to do everything on your own anymore. Folks in Barrett's Mill are real fond of your aunt and uncle, and they're gonna want to help you, whether you like it or not.”
“Including you?”
Warmth spread through his features, burnishing the gold in his eyes to a color she'd never seen before. When he finally smiled, for the first time in her life, she actually felt her knees begin quivering. If he took it into his head to kiss her, she was fairly certain she wouldn't have the strengthâor the willâto stop him.
“Including me,” he said so quietly, she almost didn't hear him.
Struggling to keep her head clear, she pulled her dignity around her like a shield. “That's really not necessary. I'm very capable of taking care of myself, and I didn't get where I am by letting people poke their noses into my life and tell me what to do.”
Mischief glinted in his eyes, and he chuckled. “Me, neither.”
Because of her size, Amy was accustomed to being misjudged, underestimated and generally dismissed by others. Sometimes it actually worked to her advantage, lulling people into a harmless perception of her that masked her relentless determination until she was ready to bring it out into the open. By then, it was too late for whoever had dared to step in between her and whatever she wanted.
But Jason Barrett, with his country-boy looks and disarming personality, didn't seem inclined to follow along. Instead, he'd taken stock of her and had apparently come to the conclusion that she didn't scare him in the least. She'd given it her best shot, and it had sailed wide. So far wide, in fact, that the only sensible thing left to do was admit defeat.
“Okay, you win. This time,” she added, pointing a stern finger at him in warning. “But Arabesque is my business, and things around here will be run my way. Got it?”
“Yes, ma'am.” Tacking on yet another maddening grin, he went on. “But I've got an idea about how to balance this entrance display. If you're done scolding me, would you like to hear it?”
The concept of someone her size hassling the brawny carpenter was absurd, and she got the distinct impression he was trying to get her to lighten up. Since he was bending over backward to be entertaining, she decided the least she could do was smile. “Sure. Go ahead.”
Propping the nutcracker in place against a shrub, he moved to the other side of the walkway that led to the studio's glass front door. Holding out his arms, he said, “Imagine a nicely decorated Christmas tree over here. Then you could do narrow pillars with an arch over the top strung with lights and a sign telling people when the show is.”
“I don't think Jenna has time to do another sign for me.”
“It's just lettering,” he pointed out. “I'll get some stencils and knock it out in no time.”
Squinting, she envisioned what he'd described. Since the sun went down so much earlier this time of year, people running errands on Main Street after work would be drawn to Arabesque, just the way she was hoping. They'd come over to check out the cheery display window and get a look inside the freshly redecorated studio. Not only would it boost attendance for
The Nutcracker
, it might gain her some new students. Profits were the name of the new game she was playing, and anything that had the potential to bring in customers was worth a try.
“I like it,” she announced. “When do you think you can have it done?”
“How's Monday afternoon sound?”
She had no idea how much work was involved in what he'd described, but he sounded so confident, she didn't even consider questioning the quick turnaround. “Perfect. Thank you.”
Plunging his hands into the front pockets of his well-worn jeans, he said, “I oughta warn you, it probably won't be perfect. But I can promise you it'll be good enough to do the job.”
“Like you?”
“And you.” Slinging the wooden soldier over his shoulder, he gazed down at her. “For most of us, that's enough.”
“Not for me,” she assured him. “I don't stop until whatever I'm doing can't possibly be any better.”
“We've all got flaws, y'know. It's what we accomplish in spite of 'em that makes us who we are.”
The last thing she'd have expected this morning was to find herself in a philosophical debate with a guy carrying a life-size nutcracker. “That's a nice thought, but some of us are more imperfect than others. It keeps us from being our best.”
“Maybe that's 'cause you're meant to be something else.”
Clearly, he meant for his calm, rational explanation to make her feel better about her lingering injuries. He didn't mention God by name, but the silver cross on the chain around his neck filled in the blanks nicely for her. While she respected his right to hold that faith, his comment sparked a flame of resentment she fought to control. “Maybe I wanted the chance to choose for myself.”
All her life, she'd done everything her Sunday-school teacher had taught her to do. She went to church, said all the prayers, sang all the hymns. She'd worked relentlessly to polish the talent God gave her until it shone as brightly as any stage lights in the world.
And then He took it all away.
Lying in that lonely hospital bed, she begged Him to help her, to make everything the way it was before. And what happened? Nothing.
She didn't trust herself to speak calmly right now, but from the sympathy in Jason's eyes, she might as well have told him her whole tragic story.
“We don't always get what we ask for, Amy.”
“Tell me about it.”
More worked up than she'd been in a long, long time, she marched away from him and yanked open the door to escape into the only part of her world she still understood.
* * *
The rest of his day at Arabesque passed by in silence. Except when he was hammering or drilling, anyway. Other than that, Amy avoided him with a deftness that impressed and saddened him all at the same time. He'd been around enough wounded people in his life to recognize the regret that trailed after her, darkening her eyes with the kind of unrelenting sorrow he could only begin to imagine.
He'd just met her, but he instinctively wanted to do whatever he could to pound down the road ahead of her to make it easier for her to walk. The women who usually appealed to him were engaging, uncomplicated types who didn't eat much and laughed easily. Something told him Amy Morgan was complicated by nature, which should've been an enormous red flag for him.
Unfortunately, it only made him wonder what it would take to make her laugh. Then again, he thought as he packed Fred's tools into their cases, maybe he was getting ahead of himself. After all, he'd barely been able to tease a smile out of her, and they'd been together most of the day.
Stopping by her office, he knocked on the frame of the open door. “Everything's put away, so I'm gonna get outta here before your students show up. I'll be back Monday with those extra pieces we talked about.”
“Thank you.”
“No problem. Have a good rehearsal.”
Since he was out of things to say, he waved and began backing away. When she called out his name, he paused in the hallway. “Yeah?”
“Things were so hectic today, we never settled on your hourly rate.”
“I thought we agreed on zero.”
Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head in a skeptical pose he suspected was fairly common for her. “I assumed you were joking about that.”
“Nope. I'm sure Fred wasn't charging you, so since I'm filling in for him, it wouldn't be right for me to do it.”
“Where I'm from, strangers don't do things for nothing.”
“Huh,” he said with his brightest grin. “And here I thought we were friends.”
While he watched, the brittle cynicism fell away, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a wry grin. “I should warn you, I'm not the easiest person to be friends with.”
“That's cool. I like a challenge.”
Before she could warp their light exchange into something heavier, he turned and headed for the front door, whistling “Jingle Bell Rock” as he went. When the orchestral holiday medley coming over the studio speakers increased in volume, he knew she'd heard him and was registering her disapproving opinion of his taste in Christmas music. Didn't matter a bit to him, he thought as he stepped from the studio. So they didn't enjoy the same kind of tunes. It wasn't as if he was going to marry her or anything.
Outside, he paused to take in the view of his hometown at the holidays. While he'd been gone, he'd seen plenty of towns, big, small and everything in between. He recalled most of their names, but none had ever measured up to Barrett's Mill for him. At first glance, this Main Street resembled so many others, lined with buildings constructed in a time when skilled craftsmen took great pride in building things that would last forever.
The structures had a solid look to them, which gave the village a quaint, old-fashioned appeal for residents and visitors alike. Especially this time of year, when each business went all out to win the Chamber of Commerce award for best commercial decorations. The jewelry store's front window was dominated by a glacial scene that had sparkling rings and earrings pinned into the fake waterfall. Next to it, a shop that sold office supplies had set up a huge pile of brightly wrapped gifts, with a few open at the front to display the latest gadgets you could find inside. Every window was rimmed in lights, and on a cloudy day like today they gave off a cheerful glow that looked like something straight out of a holiday movie.
Across the width of the street, volunteers had strung the lighted garlands and wreaths the same way they'd done for generations. For as long as Jason could remember, when those festive greens went up, he knew Christmas was right around the corner. Even when he'd lived out West, he'd come back home every year, even if it was only for a few days. As he got older, reconnecting with those lifelong memories comforted him, no matter what might have gone wrong for him elsewhere.
He recognized a few of the people out window-shopping and lifted a hand in greeting before climbing into his truck. Actually, it was one of the mill trucks, older than dirt and held together by rust and a lot of prayers. Paul had gotten it running over the summer and offered it to Jason when he finally broke down and bought a pickup manufactured in this century. To start it, Jason usually needed a screwdriver and a boatload of patience. Since it hadn't been idle all that long, he took his chances and turned the key. Nothing happened at first, but when he gave it another shot, the engine whined a bit and caught. Pumping the gas pedal, he let the motor settle into the throaty rumble that told him it would keep running long enough for him to get where he was going. Usually.