And that seemed okay with Sam, who had no interest in going out in public. So far he’d had her deliver all of the signs he’d made for Woodstock merchants, even for people he knew, like Carmine Giordano and Steve Balfour. Sam was content to be a hermit, and for the next few years, Jo would gladly visit his lair.
He rubbed his hands up and down her back, then ended by leaning over her so close she could feel his warm breath by her ear as he whispered, “How’s that?”
“Wonderful.” Every nerve in her body felt invigorated and alive—and aroused, too—but since she wasn’t ready to take that step yet, she turned her head toward him, and said, “Now it’s your turn.”
“That’s okay.” He squeezed her shoulders, then lifted himself off her.
There was a chill in the air above her as she rose to her knees and faced him. “Really. I’ve given you space and privacy for a while now, but it’s time.” When he frowned, she reached out and gently pressed the left side of his neck. “I want to touch you, Sam. I want to learn your scars and your sensitive spots. I want to know you.”
His face tensed. “You won’t like what you see.”
“No one wants to see how someone they care for got hurt, but now those scars are a part of you, Sam. I don’t think they define you, but they’re part of your body, and I don’t want you to feel like you need to hide from me anymore. Our bodies are road maps of our lives, a history of where we’ve been. Show me. Show me where you’ve been.”
“This is crazy.” He sat back on his heels and undid the top button of his flannel shirt. “Look, I won’t blame you if you want to turn and run out of here screaming.”
Jo snickered. “That’s not happening, so go on. Get your clothes off, man.”
“Just the shirt and hat. I didn’t get injured below the waist.”
She rolled her eyes. “Now you’re going to be a stickler for detail?”
He actually grinned for a moment, then sighed. “Okay.” He pulled off the cap with the earflaps, raked up his hair, and turned so that she could see the left side of his head. She touched his cheek, where the skin was stubbly from a day’s growth of beard. His face wasn’t harmed, but under his hair was a rough patch of red raised skin where his ear should have been. Gently, her fingertips circled the shiny flesh and followed the scarring down the side of his neck, extending beneath the collar of his shirt.
“So you lost hearing on this side?”
“Yeah. The doctors were amazed that there wasn’t some brain damage. I guess sometimes it pays to be hardheaded.”
She drew back her hand and nodded. “Okay, buddy. Shirt off.”
His eyes glistened, his gaze intent on her eyes as if eager for a reaction. “You’re so demanding,” he said as he finished unbuttoning and slid the shirt off.
His chest struck her first, and not because of any injury. Those were the very definition of six-pack abs, the rippled muscles evident even in the shadowed light. Unable to resist, she ran a hand between his pecs, down his belly.
“Easy, there. You’re in the express lane. Missed your exit.”
“Oh.” She pulled her hand back, as if burned. “Sorry, but your abs are a huge distraction.”
“My left shoulder.” He turned toward the left. “The bomb shattered the bones, but the muscles stayed in good shape. I had to get a new joint, chrome and titanium. I’ve got a bionic shoulder.”
She cupped the braided scar that capped his shoulder. “Does it hurt when I touch you?” she asked.
“No, I can’t feel anything there because the nerves were severed. But I can feel things in plenty of other places.”
She ran her hand back down his chest, then pushed him away. “You boys never grow up. Here I’m trying to dole out some tender loving care, and your mind goes right back to the sex thing.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” he said.
“Nothing wrong with it when two people are committed and responsible.” As the intense moment eased, she leaned back and crossed her legs.
“You are one buff guy for someone who spent a year in rehab. Better put your shirt back on before I lose my senses and attack you.”
He slid his arms into the sleeves. “I had access to a gym and plenty of time on my hands. What else was I going to do?”
“Well, apparently you weren’t throwing a pity party and eating bonbons. Which is to say, you look great. I wish the scars didn’t keep you from going out in public.”
“I don’t want to be a freak. The beast that scares little kids in grocery stores.”
“Little kids see things through their own filters, and they are a lot less judgmental than most adults in the world. But that’s another issue. I’m just saying, it doesn’t look as bad as you think.”
He nodded. “Whatever. I’m scheduled for another skin graft on the side of my head in the new year. That is, if I ever get down to Concord to the VA hospital to meet with the doctors. I haven’t been too good about that since I landed here.”
“Sam Norwood! You’d better take care of yourself. Get your butt down there this week.”
“It’s Christmas—they don’t want to see me now, and it’s all the way down in Concord.”
“What is wrong with you? Concord isn’t that long a drive.”
“I’ve been busy. Got a job in an auto shop, and someone gave me a dozen signs to paint by hand.”
“Those things can wait,” Jo insisted sternly. “Your health comes first.” She thought about Sam in the hospital alone, how he’d recovered through months of surgery and skin grafts. “And you’d better let me know when your procedure is scheduled, because I’m not letting you go through it alone this time.”
“Going to hold my hand?” He sounded skeptical.
“I’ll drive down with Molly. She’s almost finished with her nursing degree, and she’ll be able to make sure you’re getting the best care.”
Sam raked his hair back and stared at her, as if he didn’t believe her promise. “That’d be good.”
“We’ll be there for you, Sam. I’ll be there,” she said, knowing that, in her heart, she was already committed to loving Sam.
It would just take a few years for the other details to fall into place.
Chapter 11
“What’s the big deal?” Tommy asked across the engine of the truck. “You want an invite to Christmas dinner, I’m inviting you now. Don’t wait on my sister, because the brain of a woman works entirely different than a man’s, and you’ll never understand what’s holding her up.”
Sam wiped oil off the stick and plunged it in again. “But I want it to come from her. I’m not going to just show up Sunday night.”
“Why not? You know she wants you there. She’s probably just freaked out about Ma and Pops finding out about you two. Jo hasn’t dated much since Shane died.” He tipped his hat back and scratched his head. “Actually, I don’t think she’s dated at all.”
“It’s okay, man. I’ll wait till she asks.”
“Just saying, you’ll be waiting a long time, pal.”
Sam released the hood of the truck and he and Tommy stepped back as it slammed shut. “And why is that? What’s Jo afraid of?”
He had a theory, though he hoped it was wrong.
Their late-night meetings in the Trumans’ garage were magical, but you couldn’t make out with a woman in the backseat of a classic Mustang forever.
They were two adult people, who were obviously attracted to each other. Jo rarely missed an evening with him, but during other times of the day, she was distant and inaccessible. It was almost as if she couldn’t acknowledge him. They had to keep their voices down in the garage because she didn’t want her parents to know about them, and though she had faced his scars without flinching, he was beginning to worry that it had soured her feelings for him.
Granted, his wounds looked hideous. He knew that. But still ... he’d hoped that Jo would be the one person in this world who would see past the physical scars.
For whatever reason, Jo refused to be seen with him in public. She wouldn’t associate with him beyond their late-night meetings in the garage.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with my sister,” Tommy muttered, wiping his nose with the cuff of his coveralls. “You got a question for her, you’d better ask her yourself.”
So much for insight from Jo’s brother, Sam thought as he climbed into the truck and pulled it out of the garage bay. When he pulled into a spot in the lot, the car that pulled in beside him looked familiar. The man who stepped out had the look of a former marine, and Sam recognized him as the guy who was hiring a ballistics expert for the Old Man of the Mountain Monument.
“Sam Norwood.” The man’s steely eyes didn’t miss a beat.
“You remembered my name.”
“Your friend refreshed my memory.” He nodded toward the shop, where Tommy stood in the doorway, talking on a cell phone. Seeing the man, Tommy gave a hesitant salute.
“I’m sorry, I forgot your name.”
“Nelson Dubinsky.”
“And you’re working on the Old Man Monument.”
“Right. I was about to extend an offer to a munitions expert from the Big Dig when I got an application that topped all. An application for you, Norwood.”
Sam shook his head. “I don’t know anything about that.”
“Seems Thomas Truman has been working behind your back—with your mother, no less.” He pointed a thumb toward his car. “I’ve got an application in there that shows you to be the perfect candidate for my project. The question is, do you want the job?”
Sam found it hard to believe that Tommy had the acumen to pull together such a feat, or that his mother cared enough to dig through his records and find all the crap that a job like this would ask for.
“I suppose they forged my signature, too?”
“The online application spared them that crime, though I don’t appreciate being involved in their little scheme. My crew is geared up to start with planning at the end of February. We’ll break ground after the spring thaw in March. Do you want to be part of the team, Norwood?”
Sam did.
He’d always wanted to build something that lasted, something that would stand long after he was gone, and few things in these parts were more beloved than was the Old Man of the Mountain.
But he wasn’t sure he was ready to commit to staying in Woodstock. If things went south with Jo, life here would be unbearable.
“I didn’t even know I’d been put in for the job,” Sam said. “To be honest, it’s a plum, but I’m not sure I’ll still be here after Christmas.”
Dubinsky squinted. “Got plans?”
“I’m just not sure my roots are strong enough to keep me here.” Sam looked the man squarely in the eyes. “I’d like your job, but I can’t commit right now. I’ll know more after the holidays, but I understand if you can’t wait.”
Frowning, Dubinsky put his hands on his narrow hips. “I appreciate your honesty, but damned if you aren’t a cagey bastard.”
“I’ve been called worse.”
“Haven’t we all.” Dubinsky turned to his car, then paused with his hand on the door. “Here’s what I’ll do. If I haven’t heard from you by January fifteenth, I’ll hire on my guy from the Big Dig. January fifteenth. If you want the job, call me before then.” He extended a business card. “Fair enough, son?”
The light in the man’s eyes had warmed.
“Thank you, sir.” Sam took the card and shook the man’s hand. “I appreciate your kindness.”
“Bah ...” Dubinsky waved him off. “You just call me by the fifteenth. Have a good Christmas.”
Sam nodded, gooseflesh forming on the back of his neck as he recalled his father, who had died of a heart attack when Sam was twelve. No one had called Sam “son” since then. “Yes, sir.”
As Dubinsky drove off, Sam realized this would be the Christmas that changed everything ... for better or worse. If Jo could accept him, he’d have a life here and a job and a family.
If not, he’d heard there was work up in Alaska.
Chapter 12
December twenty-third, the day before Christmas Eve, Jo strolled down an aisle of sparkling trees in the store, savoring the sights, sounds, and scents of Christmas. She loved the last few days before Christmas: the excitement of the kids, the festive lights, the generosity of people in town, as evidenced by the overflowing boxes of food in the bank lobby. These were her favorite days of the year.
“O Come, O Come, Emmanuel” was playing, a version thick with brass trumpets that reminded her to stay on track for Christmas. When she wanted to get lost in the trappings, she reminded herself that it was a celebration of the Savior’s birth, the promise of salvation for all mankind. Dad always told everyone that love is the center of the celebration.
Her only regret was that she wouldn’t be spending much of the next few days with Sam. Christmas Eve was out, with all hands necessary to help out at the inn, and then the family tradition of midnight mass. She was hoping that she and Sam could get together Christmas night, after the family celebration. A brief snuggle in the glow of Tommy’s Christmas lights in the garage would make the perfect ending for her Christmas.
Over at the counter, Molly was working with a customer, so Jo allowed herself a moment to bask in the glittering lights and ornaments. She thought of last night, the string of kisses that had ended their conversation; she pressed a finger to her lips. They’d seemed swollen with desire when she’d slipped out of the garage in a haze of passion. Sam had kissed her hard, with a fervor that said he wanted more.
She wanted it, too. It was something to look forward to in the new year, though she didn’t know how they would swing the privacy issue. She did know she would use protection. Super-duper protection this time. But where could they go to get away from the family and prying eyes?
The image of Sam filled her mind—his stormy gray eyes, the strong jaw that tended to scratch her with stubble, the long fingers that moved over her with such tenderness. Sam would think of something. She had never met a guy who possessed such patience with other people.
“Jo? Yo, Joanne Truman,” Molly called, grinning. “Get over here. Wow, for a minute there I thought we’d lost you to Christmasland or something.”
Shrugging off embarrassment, Jo straightened her sweater and joined her cousin at the counter. “Just a holiday daydream. What’s up?”
“Mrs. Porter is looking for some ornaments that kids can decorate at parties,” Molly said, gesturing to the woman in jeans and a red knit poncho.
“How old?” Jo asked. When Mrs. Porter said they were all over ten, Jo guided her to glitter glue and ribbon and helped her with her purchase.
As the woman left the shop, Molly danced into the open space in front of the counter and reenacted the scene.
“Okay, this is you, all wide-eyed and lovelorn. Really, Jo, I’ve never seen you like this, not even with Shane. Shane made his demands, but this guy Sam has bowled you over. You are just crazy in love with him, aren’t you?”
“Both.” Jo crossed her arms, hugging herself. “Crazy. And in love.”
“I can’t wait to meet him. Is he coming to Christmas dinner?”
“Of course not! I can’t have him around the family, Moll. You know it’s not healthy for Ava to be exposed to strange men her mother is dating.”
“He’s not a strange man, he’s Sam, and you like him a hell of a lot. Ava’s an easy sell. If you like him, she’s bound to like him, too.”
“Dr. Nora, that psychologist, says kids really suffer when a single parent brings a friend around. They might compete for attention or feel displaced. And when they do get attached to the boyfriend, it breaks their hearts when things don’t work out for the couple.”
“I know what Dr. Nora is getting at, but shit happens! You can’t live in a bubble, and neither can Ava.”
“I need to protect my child and let her know that I’m devoted to her.”
“And live like a nun?”
Jo picked up an ornament that had rolled off a nearby tree. “I can date, silly. I just can’t bring someone home or introduce him into our home life.”
“Well, that’s kind of useless.”
“That’s Dr. Nora’s advice, and I’m sticking to it.”
Molly hoisted herself onto the counter with a frown.
“That Dr. Nora has a bug up her ass. She’s probably sneaking male strippers into her bedroom while her kids are asleep.”
“Molly! Shut up!” Jo glanced around to see if anyone was listening.
“There’s no one else in here,” Molly said. “But that’s about to change. Here comes trouble.” She jumped off the counter and made herself busy in the back room so that Jo would have to deal with the customer.
Who could be that bad? Jo wondered as the door bells jingled, and Clarice Diamond stepped in.
“Hello,” the elegant woman said, pausing in the doorway to brush snow from the shoulders of her cashmere coat. “Picturesque—but none of the songs ever mention what a sloppy mess it is.”
“Merry Christmas.” Jo tried not to let the animosity she felt, creep into her voice. “How’s the tree working out at Cascade House?”
“It’s perfect.” Clarice stepped in, slipping off rust leather gloves as smooth as butter. “It really helped to make the place more homey. Of course, we haven’t found a way to make the cooking any better, but I understand it’s hard to get fresh ingredients up here in the winter.”
Jo wanted to say that the owners of Cascade House were her friends and that Laura was one of the best cooks she knew, but she kept mum. Better to just take care of business and get Clarice Diamond out of here. “Can I help you find something?”
“I hope so. I’m sure you heard about Sid buying the inn.”
“Right. Looks like we’re going to be neighbors.”
“Oh? Oh—you mean with this shop across the street?” Clarice frowned. “This whole block will probably be swept up in Sid’s new spa.”
Although Clarice kept talking, Jo was stuck on her last words. So their little shop would be swept away, a tiny shell under the tsunami that was Sid Diamond. And Clarice didn’t understand how wrong that was? She had no sense of how it might hurt Jo and Molly to learn that their business was dispensable ... utterly disposable?
“Anyway, when Sid told me the Camdens were waiting until after Christmas to make their decision, I wanted to send them a little gift to remind them of this town. That snow globe you sold me came to mind, but my son loves it. Do you have another one I can send to Earl and Wendy?”
“Of course.” A sour knot lodged in Jo’s throat and stuck there as she went to the back room and found a snow globe wrapped in bubble wrap.
Molly touched her arm, her eyes wide with alarm, but Jo just nodded and returned to the counter.
“The snow globe of Woodstock, right?” Jo asked. She wanted to tell Clarice Diamond that Jo’s mother made these from ornaments that they special-ordered from Bavaria. And how Irene hand-painted the names of the shops, ever so tiny.
But she saved her breath, knowing the entrepreneur’s wife wouldn’t care. Besides, this time next year, the buildings depicted in the globe would be six feet under, all bulldozed over.
“That’s it,” Clarice nodded, removing a gold credit card from her slender wallet. “You’ll ship it for me? Actually, I don’t know their address down in Boca, but you can get it from the inn, can’t you? As I hear it, you’re all interrelated.”
“Forty dollars extra for shipping,” Jo said, doubling the usual fee.
“Not a problem.”
As Jo processed the credit card transaction, the volume of the music rose—Molly at work. Jo bit her lower lip, noting that Clarice did not seem to appreciate the fine musical stylings of “Grandma Got Run Over by a Reindeer.”
When the woman had left, Molly freaked.
“What the hell? I think Scrooge has been reincarnated!” Molly shouted.
“They’re going to bulldoze our shop,” Jo said, stunned.
Molly went to the display window and peered out. “Did you hear the crack about all of us being related? She made it sound like a scene from
Deliverance
!”
“I can’t believe this is really happening.” Jo looked at the snow globe of her beloved Woodstock and bit her lower lip. “They can’t come in and ruin our little town.”
“That woman is loony tunes,” Molly said emphatically. “I say we don’t ever let her in the shop again. Next time, we lock the door and duck. We can’t let her ruin our Christmas.”
“It’s not just about Christmas,” Jo said, peering at the miniature versions of the Christmas shop and the Woodstock Inn inside the snow globe. “She’s going to ruin everything, she and her husband. They’re going to ruin our lives.”
Molly shook her head. “Much as I long to stray from the homeland, I’m starting to get this whole thing. I don’t want to come home from Boston and find some resort with a golf course and hot tubs sitting where my parents’ home used to be.”
“And that’s exactly what they plan to do.”
“So we have to figure out a way to stop them. Have your parents made their offer on the inn yet?”
“They’re waiting to get a loan approved from the bank.”
“Well, somebody better call Emma down at the bank and have her crunch some numbers fast, before they take a wrecking ball to Main Street.”
“Mum’s working the desk at the inn today.” Jo grabbed her coat from under the counter. “I’m going over to have a chat. Maybe we can light some fires under people at the bank.” As the door bells jangled, she turned back to her cousin. “Sorry to stick you with minding the shop ...”
“Just go ... go!” Molly waved her off.
Jo held her coat closed, blinking against the falling snow as she crossed the street to the inn. “Proud old girl,” she said, wondering how anyone could think of tearing down the majestic white building with its gables and wraparound porch, its white picket fence, old stonework, and towering pines. Sid Diamond had found success, but the man was blind to true beauty in this world.
The minute she walked into the lobby of the inn, Jo sensed that something was up. Was something wrong with her eyes, or were there small pink dots everywhere? And what was that floating from the old chandelier in the lobby?
Peering up at the grand light fixture, she moved closer, across the old Chinese carpet. A tag dangled from the chandelier.
FOR SALE
, it read.
ASK AT THE DESK ABOUT MY PRICE
.
“What?” Squinting, she swung around to the grandfather clock, where a sign read:
FOR SALE
.
TAKE ME HOME
.
“You’ve got to be kidding me.” Jo tromped over to the mantel, which apparently was on the market for a steal at a thousand dollars. She suspected that if the mantel were removed, the entire wall would come tumbling down, but maybe that was the goal of the person selling the inn off. Demolition.
“Hey, Mum. What’s the deal with the price tags?” She crossed the lobby to the main desk, but the seat behind the elaborate wood grillwork atop the marble counter was empty. “Anybody here?” It was not like her mother to leave the desk unattended on her watch.
“Oh, Jo. Thank goodness it’s you, sweetie.” Her mother’s voice sounded thick and husky as she emerged from the cubby in the back. Irene Truman had been crying, something Jo did not remember ever witnessing before. Her face was drained of color and she pressed a gob of tissues to her red eyes. “I’m so embarrassed ...”
“Mum, are you okay?” In an instant, Jo was behind the desk, helping her mother to a chair.
“I’ll be fine. Not to worry, dear. It’s just bad news. I need a few minutes to pull myself together.”
“What?” Jo bent down beside her mother.
“I just got a call from Emma Mueller, and the bank has ... has denied our loan.” Irene’s voice quavered at the last words.
“Oh, no. No, no.” Jo touched her mother’s shoulders. “I’m sorry, Mum.”
“It’s not the end of the world. In fact, your father and I have a plan B, which we decided on in advance, and he’s already been on the phone, putting it into action.” Irene sniffed. “We’ve put the house up for sale.”
“What? Mum, you can’t—”
Irene held up a hand to stave off Jo’s objections. “I know it will be hard on all of us. We’ve had such a good run there, and it’s always been your home. But the house on Bull Moose Road will fetch a small fortune. Half a million dollars, that’s what Darlene Clark says. She’s Larry Clark’s daughter; got her Realtor’s license now.”
Jo didn’t know Darlene, but Larry Clark Realty was an institution in Woodstock.
“The money from the sale of the house, combined with our savings, will be enough to buy the inn outright. A cash sale.” She took a deep, calming breath. “I’ll bet Mister Sidney Diamond isn’t putting up that kind of cash.”
The breath drained from her body as Jo rose and pressed against the walnut-paneled wall behind her, trying to gain some sort of balance.
Everything was spiraling out of control. Her home, her town ... she pressed her clammy palms to the wall, trying to think of a way out of this box.