скачать книгу бесплатно
“You are a regular Christmas elf, aren’t you?”
“That’s me.” But they both knew this had never been his favorite season. It always brought too many reminders that he wasn’t as well-off as the other kids in town. Too many humiliating opportunities for his dad to send him around for handouts.
Sharon gave him an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of Paris and Elizabeth with this silly hat.” She waggled her head to send the puffy white ball swinging.
He laughed and snatched it off her head, then popped it on top of his. “No problem. I’m sure I’m the most handsome elf this town has ever seen.”
“I imagine you’re the most handsome one Paris has ever seen.”
“I don’t know about that.” He handed the hat back to her. “I imagine her husband can hold his own—if supplied appropriate headgear, of course.”
Sharon’s forehead creased. “Her husband?”
“Dalton.” Why was she looking at him as if he’d lost his mind? “Dr. Dalton Herrington?”
“You have been gone a long time, doll.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Paris never married Dalton. He died. Didn’t you know?”
* * *
“A tuck here and there and it will be a perfect fit,” Paris reassured Macy Colston late Saturday afternoon as they exited the Sew-In-Love shop where the final fitting of the young woman’s bridal dress had taken place. Low, slate-gray clouds once again hinted at a possibility of snow, the Northland’s weather changeable from one minute to the next.
“Thanks again, Paris, for stepping in to take over for Reyna. With all the traveling for my Hometowns With Heart blog and my family scattered across the country, I’ve probably depended on her more than I should. Hopefully I won’t infringe on your time too much.”
Paris patted the leather portfolio tucked under her arm. “Thankfully, Reyna is extremely organized. Your wedding will be utterly charming with the 1940s theme. I love that Jake’s agreeing to wear a fedora and has a friend with a vintage car. So dashing—and romantic.”
“He’s being a real sport. You have no idea the lengths a man in love will—” Macy brought herself up short, an apologetic look darkening her eyes. “I’m sorry, Paris. Of course you know. Hearing women babble on about their fiancés and weddings can’t be easy. Please forgive me if I’ve been insensitive.”
Paris shook her head, determined not to allow a stab of guilt to affect her response. “I love your excitement at God’s gift of marriage. That is in no way being insensitive to what happened to me.”
When she and Macy parted, Paris headed to her SUV where she paused to leave a phone message for Abby Diaz, suggesting a time for a face-to-face meeting. She’d already spoken with Sharon and hopefully assisting the two of them would be no more time-consuming than Macy and Jake’s wedding appeared to be.
With the strong possibility that she might be compelled to dive into decorating for the Christmas gala, she’d need every spare minute she could get. She should have foreseen that this could happen when she’d first heard of Leroy’s setback, and not agreed to take on the weddings.
She glanced at her watch. Cody hadn’t called yet. Had he forgotten he’d promised to talk to his mother? Should she call to remind him? No. That sounded teenager-ish, as if she wanted an excuse to talk to him.
But what she could do in the meantime was drive out to Pine Shadow Ridge, a gated community which Perslow Property Management oversaw. Its impressive clubhouse would once again be the site of the Christmas charity event. She could confirm that there was no sign of Lucy Hawk’s recent decorating activity. In fact, she should have confirmed it before speaking with Cody. What if that committee member was wrong? Sharlene Odel often thrived on conflict. What if things were right on schedule and Lucy took offense at Paris not trusting her?
Not far outside the city limits, Paris slowed to take a sharp turn before heading up a blacktopped, tree-lined lane. Ahead she spotted the stone gatehouse and the security gate where an older-model pickup nosed up to the wrought-iron barrier. The gatekeeper had stepped out of his shelter, shaking his head and motioning for the driver to back up. Harry Campbell knew all the residents and vendors authorized to come and go. Apparently this one didn’t pass muster.
Allowing adequate space for the truck to back up, Paris put the SUV in Park, adjusted the heater and settled in to wait. Hopefully Harry would get this straightened out quickly and she could be on her way.
But...wait. Wasn’t that truck similar to the one Cody had been driving? Turning off the ignition, Paris stepped out into the nippy late-afternoon air. A few snowflakes kissed her cheeks as she approached the gatehouse, and Harry’s polite but firm voice reached her ears.
“I’m sorry, sir, but like I said, you have to move. You’re blocking those who are authorized for entrance.” Harry glanced in her direction, then motioned apologetically toward the truck. “Sorry, Miss Perslow.”
At the mention of her name, Cody poked his handsome head out the driver-side window to look back in her direction.
“Paris, please tell this guy I’m legit. Like I told him, I’m here on behalf of the Christmas gala.”
Did he intend to personally check out the status of his mother’s work, to see how bad it was—or wasn’t?
“He’s legit,” she confirmed as she came to stand by the irritated gatekeeper. Then she cast a cool glance toward Cody, who flashed an I-told-you-so look in Harry’s direction. “It’s customary, Mr. Hawk, to have authorization in advance. Harry wouldn’t be doing his job had he let you in.”
No doubt Harry had taken one look at Cody’s weathered vehicle and decided this man had no business there. He’d know Leroy, of course, and could easily have gone to school with one of Cody’s troublemaking brothers. A Hawk was a Hawk in this town, with a one-size-fits-all reputation.
She nodded to the gatekeeper. “Thanks, Harry. I’ll vouch for him.”
But was that wise? She had to keep reminding herself that Cody might have been a much-maligned boy who’d always been kind to her, but she had no idea who he was as a man.
Harry nodded and returned to the gatehouse, then the massive gates slowly opened. She glanced at Cody.
“Do you know where you’re going?”
He shook his head and grinned, a heart-stopping flash of white teeth in his tanned face. “Why don’t you lead the way, Miss Perslow?”
Back in her SUV, endeavoring to quiet the now-skittering beat of her heart, she watched Cody ease his truck through the gate. Then she followed until he pulled over to let her pass. The tree-lined lane curved among pines and boulders, a gradual incline that wouldn’t give anyone too much wintertime grief. The majority of residents vacated after Labor Day, of course, not returning until early summer. But diehards remained throughout the year or returned on winter weekends to ski nearby slopes and cozy up to a roaring fireplace.
When they reached the top of the rise, the log-and-stone clubhouse came into distant view through the pines, but she took a sharp right turn down a narrow blacktopped road marked “Private.” When she finally reached the large steel structure where heavy maintenance equipment and supplies were housed, she shut off the engine and got out as Cody pulled in beside her.
As he approached where she stood next to the substantial building, his dark eyes assessed his surroundings.
“This is new. And I’m guessing that was the clubhouse I glimpsed before we turned off. The foundation was being poured about the time I left town.”
She’d forgotten he’d have still lived in Canyon Springs when the project was getting underway. Motioning to a door off to the side, she held a keycard to the security pad next to it. Cody reached for the latch and opened it for her.
“Thanks,” she said as she stepped into the dimly lit interior, noting that the workers had left for the day. She felt along the wall for the light switch just as Cody reached for it, too, his warm fingers brushing hers as together they illuminated the high-ceilinged space. She pulled back as a shot of awareness bolted through her.
Catching her breath, she pointed across the spacious interior to the far corner. “We’ve set up an area for your mother to work. Since you’ve come to take a look, I assume you’ve talked to Lucy?”
“I phoned her.”
Please, God, let Lucy be able to finish this project. This was supposed to be a special Christmas. My last one as a resident of Canyon Springs. But everything is snowballing out of control. Please?
She took a steadying breath. “And?”
“And...” Cody’s brows formed a sympathetic, inverted V. “She can’t follow through on it. Dad’s too sick. She needs to be there for him.”
“But she signed a contract. Accepted payment.”
“Yes, she’s well aware of all that.”
“Well, then, what—?”
“What am I doing here? I wanted to see how much she’s done.” Cody glanced toward the work area, then once again leveled a steady gaze on Paris. “And see how much I have left to do.”
Chapter Four (#ulink_556bbb8c-737c-5f80-8170-468868c09db0)
A soft, startled breath escaped Paris’s lips. Cody wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. All he knew was that it pierced his heart and made him more determined to make good on his mother’s commitment to the holiday gala. For Ma. For Paris.
She shot him a confused look. “You’re taking over for your mother?”
“She feels badly about letting you down. Being unable to fulfill a promise isn’t something she takes lightly.”
He still marveled that Ma said Dad had agreed to help out, to do the construction for her. That sure wasn’t the Leroy Hawk he knew.
“She asked you to do this?”
“I offered to do it when I realized how upset she was.”
When I sensed how upset you would be.
“But your mother is an artist.”
Cody chuckled. “That she is. And I’m not a half-bad one myself, if you’ll recall.”
He’d once garnered the courage to waylay Paris as she walked home alone from school one afternoon. He’d shown her a sketch he’d done while observing her from a far corner of study hall. The drawing was one of many where he’d done his best to capture her expressive eyes and her shimmering dark hair draping over her shoulders.
That day she’d stared for a long moment at the sketch he’d handed her, telling her she could keep it. She’d blushed furiously, thanked him, then hurried home without a backward glance.
Had she kept it? Or tossed it in the trash?
“You are,” she said softly, her cheeks even now tinged a delicate pink, “a very good artist.”
So she did remember.
“Ma has the staging designs worked out. All I have to do is build them. Everything will be true to the original plan the committee approved months ago.”
She glanced uncertainly toward the work area, then at him. “Don’t you have a job you have to get back to?”
He could tell it embarrassed her to ask. The older Hawk boys hadn’t been known to stay with anything long. Where were they now? In Texas again? New Mexico? Barry had been in and out of who knows how many marriages and had done time in jail for violation of a restraining order. Carson had been in and out of trouble with the law as well and fathered more than a few illegitimate children.
“I do have a job, but it’s flexible enough at the moment to let me remain in town a few weeks to help my mother. And you.”
From the look in her eyes, he shouldn’t have added that personal postscript. But it didn’t much matter whether she liked it or not. He wasn’t going to let Ma down and allow her reputation to be dragged down to the level of his dad and half brothers.
“Ma’s subcontracting the project to me. If you’ll make sure Harry the Gatekeeper knows I have approval so I can come and go here and at the clubhouse as time allows, I guarantee the staging will more than meet your expectations and your deadline.”
He’d do it if he had to work twenty-four hours a day.
Could she tell that he had no expectations tacked onto his offer of assistance? Neither of them had alluded to that long-ago night when he’d poured out his heart to her, but it hung like an invisible barrier between them. As much as he’d like to spend every moment of his time in Canyon Springs with Paris, even with Dalton out of the picture he wouldn’t attempt to insert himself into her world again as he’d done twelve years ago.
Doubt colored her eyes. “I’m not sure—”
“I’d say you could think it over and get back to me later.” He nodded toward the work area as his eyes remained locked on hers. “But there’s no time to accommodate much thinking, let alone much ‘later.’ I need to get crackin’. And you need to get on out of here and let me get to work.”
* * *
Cody’s authoritative words still echoed through Paris’s mind on Monday morning as she poured herself another glass of orange juice. They’d been spoken as if he were the boss and she an unwelcome intrusion on his valuable time.
You need to get on out of here and let me get to work.
She should have protested, should have told him the contract was with his mother, not him, and that the committee would make alternate arrangements. But what choice did she truly have with the gala now fewer than three weeks away? Bristling under the surface, she’d nevertheless obediently departed, stopping off at the gatehouse to inform Harry of Cody’s project work and to authorize the use of Lucy’s keycard.
She should be relieved. A decorating disaster had been averted at the midnight hour. Everything would be finished on time if Cody was true to his word, and there would be little need to interact with him. He’d made it clear he could handle it on his own and would brook no interference that might delay him in meeting his mother’s obligations.
So why was she feeling anything but relief?
“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” Her father rose from the breakfast table to gaze out at the thickly pined acreage from the French doors of his sprawling log home. It had been her home again, too, ever since she’d cut short her junior year at Northern Arizona University and returned when Dad had what he referred to as “my ticker episode.” After Mom’s death, he hadn’t taken good care of himself and had worked too hard. Following a heart bypass and a change in lifestyle facilitated by the diligence of his daughter, Paris hadn’t returned to school—a decision she was increasingly coming to regret.
Dad turned away from a light flurry of snow that lent the view a Christmas-card beauty. “You seem distracted this morning.”
“I’m mentally planning out my day,” she said lightly, instinctively knowing her father wouldn’t approve of Cody offering his services on behalf of the charity event. He’d hear of it soon enough, though, because she’d have to tell the committee tonight. Some—like Elizabeth—would doubt the wisdom of permitting him to take part. Trusting the job to the talented Lucy Hawk was one thing. A Hawk male was quite another.
She’d have to be prepared for pushback.
“Don’t feel obligated to help with those weddings,” her father stated, assuming that was the issue troubling her. “It’s okay to change your mind. There’s not a soul in town who would fault you for not lending a hand.”
“No, but...” Paris smoothed the cloth napkin in her lap. What Dad said was true. Anyone who’d read the local paper’s gushing front-page article in which her engagement had been announced—and later experienced the shock of Dalton’s death reverberating through the community—could guess at the pall which descended on her at the prospect of weddings.
“I think, though,” she continued as her father leaned in to kiss her on the top of her head as he’d done since she was a little girl, “it’s time I got over my aversion to weddings.”
That’s the conclusion she’d prayerfully come to Friday night and now, with Cody seeing to the decorating, she could once again conclude it was the right decision. Things had gone well enough with Macy on Saturday, hadn’t they? Except for those awkward moments when the soon-to-be bride apologized for her perceived insensitivity. Unfortunately, Paris’s strategy of wedding avoidance had only served to draw sympathy she didn’t deserve.
Dad studied her a long moment. Widowed fourteen years ago when her mother’s multiple sclerosis had finally taken its toll, he was a still-handsome man in his early sixties, his dark hair silvering at the temples. He’d caught the eye of more than a few women since Mom’s passing. But not only had he not remarried, he never dated, unless you counted occasionally asking a friend or business associate to accompany him to an event. Most often he went alone. Not that anyone could ever replace Marna Perslow, but Paris had always thought Elizabeth would be a perfect match. Why, after her husband’s death, had Dad never acted on what she sensed might be a mutual attraction?
Dad had to be lonely at times and that’s likely why he threw himself too fully into his work, a fact that worried her at the thought of leaving him on his own when she left Canyon Springs. This morning a crease had formed across his forehead when she’d mentioned Cody Hawk’s scheduled appointment and it hadn’t yet smoothed.
“Don’t let our good pastor pressure you,” he said. “Sharon is entirely capable of handling things on her own and the other two young ladies can call on family and friends if needed. Everyone in town understands the pain weddings bring to you.”
Actually, there wasn’t a soul in town who understood her pain. Not the true source of it, anyway. Would involvement with the weddings, as her pastor had suggested, help her heal?
Nevertheless, she nodded as her father headed to his study, then she checked the time. With the office assistant out again today, she needed to get there by eight to cover the phones and front desk. But she’d promised to give Dad a hand with paperwork for sales he’d be closing on this week, so she could conveniently be in the back room when Cody arrived at nine-thirty.
Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?
She’d been surprised to glimpse him in church with his mother yesterday. But to her irritation, throughout the service—and afterward—she couldn’t keep her thoughts from wandering to that long-ago night when he’d told her he loved her. Had always loved her. Would love her forever.
She gave a soft, scoffing laugh as she headed up the stairs to her room. Teenagers.
But her heart beat more quickly as she recalled in excruciating detail how he’d stared down at her that night. How she’d leaned in ever-so-slightly toward him, certain he’d kiss her. Even though she’d dutifully turned him down, she’d been mesmerized by the powerful yearning in his black-brown eyes.
But he hadn’t kissed her.
Instead, he’d quirked a smile and stepped back as if pleased with what he’d read in her eyes. He’d brazenly delivered his line about her one day begging him to marry her. And then he was gone, leaving her stunned.
Cody had been clear on his long-term intentions that night. But what was he thinking now? And why did the prospect of his continued interest—or lack of it—unsettle her so?
* * *
