The Scrooge Of Loon Lake

What was the matter with his left leg? Was that why he was no longer in the navy? She took back every nasty or unkind thought she’d ever had about Des Gallagher. Except the thoughts you were thinking last night weren’t unkind. Some might call them nasty but with a totally different connotation of that particular word.

Tavie Whatley had talked about Des but hadn’t said anything about permanent or debilitating injuries. Was it simple politeness or was Tavie caught under his spell, too?

What’s this too business? I haven’t fallen under his spell.

“This will be our first winter here,” she said, hoping to steer her thoughts to more wholesome topics. “We didn’t get much snow where we lived before. We’re looking forward to real snow, aren’t we, Sam?”

His blue eyes wide, Sam nodded enthusiastically.

“Real snow? What other kind is there?” Des snorted and threw her a questioning glance. “Where the heck did you live before?”

“Nashville. We’d get some snow accumulation, but it didn’t last much past noon on sunny days. Sam and I are looking forward to building our first snowman, going sledding and having snowball fights.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he said. “Along with all those snowmen come shoveling, scraping your car, crappy driving conditions, salt and sand all winter long. To name a few of the exciting perks.”

“And yet, here you are.” She parroted his words from yesterday and made sure the challenge was evident in her tone.

He made a noise, blowing air through his lips. “Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment.”

She laughed. He was enjoying this too much to be as fractious as he wanted her to believe. “I’ll bet you enjoy every minute of the snow. The more miserable, the better.”

He rolled his eyes. “Remind me not to play poker with you.”

She frowned at his comment. Wait, was he groaning? “Why? I don’t understand your meaning.”

“You see too much.” He shook his head. “I predict if we have a bad winter, you’ll be crying uncle long before mud season.”

“Mud season?”

“It’s Vermont’s fifth season and comes between winter and spring.” He glanced at her sneakers. “You might want to invest in a decent pair of rubber boots before then, not to mention snow boots for the snow you’re wanting.”

“We’re here to stay. It would take more than snow or mud to chase us away.” She squared her shoulders and forced strength into her voice. “And that’s a promise, not a threat. In case you were wondering.”

“Thanks for clearing that up.” The side of his mouth lifted a fraction, the only indication he might be amused.

She moved closer and rested her hand on the padded seat of the snowmobile. “I must say, you have an impressive piece of equipment.”

“Gee, thanks, it’s been a while since anyone has complimented me on my…equipment,” he said in a deadpan tone.

She turned toward him. What did she—Oh! So much for wholesome. She closed her eyes, wishing the ground would swallow her up because now her imagination was going there. The last time she’d flirted could be measured in years, definitely before her marriage to Ryan. Her face burning up, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. His face was impassive except for an ever-so-slight lift of his eyebrows.

Her mouth opened and closed. Great, she couldn’t manage anything except an imitation of a goldfish. His expression didn’t change, but she had the distinct feeling he was relishing her discomfort. When she narrowed her eyes at him, he rubbed a hand over his mouth, his fingers making a scratching sound on the stubble. How would those dark whiskers feel against her skin? Stay away from there, Natalie. You’re way out of your depth.

Okay, so the man had a sense of humor hidden under that ill-mannered exterior. What would he be like if—No, she wanted him to make some ornaments for her auction. That was all. Nothing more. But there was no harm in noticing how his chest filled out that flannel shirt, was there?

“…on a snowmobile before?” Des had been talking to Sam while she’d been daydreaming about things she shouldn’t.

Sam, who seemed to be hanging on every word Des said, shook his head. Natalie’s chest tightened. Last year her dad had suffered one of those widow-maker heart attacks, and Sam had lost the closest male role model he’d had since his dad and her late husband, Ryan, passed away. Sure, he had plenty of doting women in his life, but she knew they couldn’t fill the void the same way a man could. Her father had been a crusty career army drill sergeant but had had a soft spot for Sam she could have hit blindfolded.

She listened as Des explained how the snowmobile worked and she made a mental note to look for a toy one Sam could add to his beloved collection of die-cast miniature cars. It would make a nice stocking stuffer. There wasn’t an abundance of extra money for Christmas presents, so she was making sure each gift from Santa was well thought out.

Des rose and stepped back until he stood shoulder to shoulder with her. “He doesn’t say much.”

She knew she could agree with him and that would be the end of the matter. That was what she’d learned to do with people who passed anonymously through their lives. She’d even perfected her smile when people said things like “I wish mine was that quiet.”

“That’s because he can’t. Three years ago, when Sam was two, a car jumped the curb into a crowd of people leaving a minor league baseball game in Nashville, where we were living. That crowd included my husband and my son. Ryan was killed and Sam suffered a TBI.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry, a TBI is—”

“Traumatic brain injury,” Des interrupted. “I’m familiar with the term.”

She glanced at Sam, who was still enamored with the snowmobile. “I’ll spare you all the fancy medical jargon and say he understands words, but his brain can’t plan and sequence the movements to say them. Apraxia of speech is the official term.”

Des nodded. “And this hippotherapy you mentioned helps?”

“Not with speech but it helps with muscle memory and balance,” she said. “Plus, he enjoys it. Being with the horses is more of a reward than just another therapy session like with the speech-language pathologists or physical therapy.”

“Is that why you left in such a hurry yesterday?”

“Yeah, that’s one appointment he doesn’t like to miss. Sam, don’t climb up there. It’s—”

“It’s fine. He won’t hurt anything,” Des interrupted and motioned to Sam. “You can sit on the seat if you want, bud.”

Natalie tamped down the automatic protest that sprang up and pressed her lips together. It wasn’t easy, but she needed to allow Sam room to explore. Smothering him only helped her, not him.

Des shifted his stance, bringing her attention back to him. She longed to ask what had happened to him, but politeness made her hold her tongue. Telling him she’d noticed his limp seemed a bit too forward, despite his mentioning Sam’s lack of verbal skills. Her Southern mother had drilled proper manners into her with the zeal of Natalie’s drill sergeant father. Plus, she was enjoying the sunshine on this final day in November. Not to mention being in the company of a male over the age of five. She didn’t want to spoil either with awkward questions.

“Is he in school?”

She shook her head. “I held him back an extra year. You can do that with kindergarten. He still had a lot of weekly therapy sessions and he’s made great strides in almost everything this year, which was why I felt comfortable enough to pick up and move here.”

“So will he ever be able to…” Des trailed off and winced.

“Every individual’s recovery is different.” Even to herself, her answer sounded rote and unconvincing. “We’re working with an AAC device. Sorry, that’s his augmentative and alternative communication device. Ha, my dad was career army so I grew up with all those military acronyms, but I must say medical experts love them just as much.”

“Ah, an army brat. That explains it.” He weighed her with a critical squint.

She shifted under his scrutiny. “Explains what?”

“You have a slight accent, but I haven’t been able to place it.”

“Yeah, I guess my speech patterns are a mixture of everywhere. My mom is from Georgia, so I have a bit of her accent but did my best to fit in wherever we were living at the time.” Her stomach did a little fluttery thing. He’d tried to pick out her accent? That meant he’d thought about her. A little thing like that shouldn’t please her as much as it did. Why not? her inner voice demanded, because she’d given him enough thought since yesterday. Des Gallagher had occupied a lot of headspace for such a brief meeting.

His face was impassive, but his gaze roamed over her. “Georgia? Huh, maybe that explains it.”

“My accent?”

He shook his head. “Nope.”

“Sorry? You’ve lost me.” Her knees wobbled under his examination. What the heck was he on about?

“How old are you?”

“Twenty-six. Why?” She stood straighter. Despite a few silver strands threaded in his thick, lustrously black hair, he seemed no older than his midthirties. They were contemporaries.

He grunted. “There’s eight years separating us. Hardly calls for you to sir me.”

“When did I call you sir?” She couldn’t recall a faux pas like that.

He rubbed the back of his scalp. “Yesterday. When you first walked in.”

“You must have flustered me.” Should I be admitting that? “Between my drill sergeant father and Southern mother, sir and ma’am comes naturally. I—I sometimes fall back on that if I feel like I’ve been put on the spot.”

He swiped a hand across his mouth, his dark eyes amused. “In that case, I apologize for flustering you.”

“Bless your heart, you can’t help it,” she said in a perfect imitation of her mother, not that he would know that.

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Am I detecting an insult in there somewhere?”

“If you are, then that’s on you.” Natalie shook her head, doing her best to look innocent. “Are you from Loon Lake?”

“Colorado. I settled here after leaving the navy three years ago.”

Her gaze went to his white American foursquare home with its hip roof, black shutters and wide brick steps leading to the front entrance. The house seemed large for one person and she wondered if he’d planned to share it with someone when he’d invested in the property. Tavie had mentioned he lived alone. Again, not her business if he had a dozen girlfriends. “So have I changed your mind about those ornaments?”

“Not a chance, Ms. Pierce.” He took a step back as if needing to put distance between them. “Don’t waste your time on a lost cause.”

Great. She’d managed to kill the camaraderie they’d shared moments ago. She plastered a smile on her face. “I gotta warn you. I’m a champion of lost causes. A regular St. Jude.” Holding out her hand, she said, “Come along, Sam, I think we’ve taken up enough of Lieutenant Gallagher’s time for one day.”

Chapter Two

Des watched them walk away and felt…what? Relief, that’s what you feel. He shook his head and limped toward the house. He didn’t need or want a woman in his life, especially one with a child. Sam was a cute kid and seemed bright and curious, despite his lack of verbal skills. No, this had nothing to do with Sam. His reluctance was all down to Natalie. She was making him feel things, think about a future he’d given up wanting a long time ago.

Natalie’s gingerbread men.

Halfway toward the house, he stopped. That plate of delicious cookies was still on his workbench. Heaving a sigh, he turned back toward the barn. Those were too good to take the chance of some critter getting them. He’d caught a crow hanging around the barn and had had small items go missing from his workbench. No proof the bird was the thief but he had his suspicions. Yeah, that wasn’t crazy or anything.

He retrieved his cookies, eating one on the way back to the house. In his mind’s eye he could see Natalie’s striking blue eyes, pert nose and Cupid’s bow lips that kept forming a smile. From the first words she’d uttered, her voice had grabbed him in the gut…and elsewhere. Damn. He needed to stop thinking about the beautiful Natalie Pierce. A blind man could see she was a white-picket-fence-kids-dog-soccer-practice type of woman.

He might have had a similar dream once upon a time, but it died the day he had to punch out of his aircraft. Those three seconds, the most violent experience of his life, had changed the course of his future. That was the amount of time it had taken from pulling the lever until he was under the chute. A textbook low altitude ejection. Except for the part where his parachute lines had gotten twisted and he’d lost precious time correcting them while plummeting toward the earth.

He’d hit the ground hard, shattering his left leg and fracturing his spine. After two surgeries and endless months of PT, he’d regained his ability to walk but not to fly jets. Although Ashley had stuck by him during his recovery, once she realized he’d no longer be flying jets, she began voicing concerns over their engagement. She’d said perhaps they wanted different things from marriage. Evidently being married to him wasn’t her dream so much as being the wife of an aviator. Any aviator.

As a last-ditch effort to salvage their relationship, he showed her the horse farm he’d stumbled across and had admired while visiting Riley Cooper in Loon Lake. Stupidly, he had thought maybe the beautiful family home and the prospect of having room for horses would appeal to her. At one time she’d claimed to be a horse lover, but she’d taken one look and said she hadn’t signed on to live in small-town Vermont. The place wasn’t even on Google Maps for heaven’s sake. She’d thought after a career in the navy, he’d work for a major carrier, they’d live in a metropolitan area and would take advantage of all of the travel perks. Yeah, she’d had their future all planned out, except he wasn’t sure where his wishes fit in.

Going into the house he’d gone ahead and purchased after their final split, he set the plate of cookies on the counter and slipped another one off the stack. He had a crazy thought that he would never confess under the threat of torture, but he swore he could taste the love Natalie put into her baking. He suspected she put her heart into everything she did. Sam, with his big grin, was proof of that. A woman like Natalie deserved someone who had a heart.

He glanced around at his state-of-the-art kitchen with its stainless-steel appliances, granite countertops and the off-white cabinets with glass inserts on the upper doors. The kitchen had been remodeled by the previous owner. When he and Ashley had toured the house, he’d figured the updated kitchen would be another point in his favor, but like everything else it had gone bust. So for the past three years, he’d rattled around in the immaculate kitchen using the refrigerator, microwave and coffeemaker.

Too bad he had nothing more than a dream kitchen to give a woman like Natalie.

Des set the pliers back down. His new piece had stalled and it had nothing to do with the fact that Natalie hadn’t returned for two days. Two days and no cookies, no pleas for him to make something for her auction. He’d listened for the sound of a car but all he heard was the silence. Silence was why he’d chosen this place. He liked silence. Huh, he and Sam would get along fine. It sure beat her chattering nonsense.

And he didn’t care if Natalie’s blue eyes reminded him of the adrenaline rush he’d gotten—and missed—when successfully landing his jet on the rolling deck of a carrier. He would’ve sworn there was nothing in the world to compete with going from one hundred and fifty miles an hour to nothing in the two seconds it took for the arresting wires to do their job. But looking into those clear eyes… He shook his head to shake some sense into it. What was he doing thinking that way about this woman? Hadn’t he learned his lesson? First his mother, then Ashley. How long would it take for Natalie to see the flaws in him?

His mother still lived in Colorado, in the bungalow he’d grown up in. Although he dutifully called on a regular basis to see if she needed anything, the answer was always no. But he called anyway, just as he’d contacted the man who’d fathered him and been rebuffed. So he lived half a continent away and used his acres as a buffer between him and the rest of the world.

Disgusted with his unproductive thoughts, he got up and put another log into the woodstove in the corner of his work area. They’d had some unusually warm days at the end of November, a truly long autumn, but December had come, bringing much colder temperatures.

Back at his workbench, he held up the piece he’d cut this morning when he’d first come to his workroom. The curve of the glass still wasn’t to his exacting standards. He’d have to redo it. Again. Maybe he should abandon adding the loon—except he’d gotten the idea the day Natalie had barged into his barn.

I follow through on my promises. Natalie’s words, in that lilting, slightly husky voice, taunted him as he worked.

Yeah, right. Forty-eight hours and she hadn’t been back. He tossed the piece of incorrectly cut glass into the box that held rejects. Those could be recycled and used another time. The pile had grown since yesterday, but he could use them in a future glass sculpture. Yeah, that was putting a good spin on the situation. He barely knew this woman and her absence for two days didn’t give him the right to mope.

I’m a champion of lost causes. A regular St. Jude.

Maybe he was one lost cause too many. Maybe Natalie saw the same thing in him that his mother did so that no matter what he’d accomplished, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough because he wasn’t his half brother. Though he and Patrick shared the same mother, they had different fathers. He chose another piece of glass, determined to get this one right. His muse had returned and he wasn’t going to let a couple of mistakes stop him. He’d—

A car door slammed in the distance. He started to rise from the stool he’d been perched on but forced himself to sit back down. What is wrong with you, Gallagher? He ground his back teeth, but deep down he enjoyed sparring with Natalie, enjoyed being the kind of guy who could attract a wholesome single mother, even if that was temporarily. Even if it was because she wanted something from him.

“Hello? Lieutenant?”

His heart thudded at the sound of her voice and he scowled, angered by his reaction. Making a fool of himself was not on today’s agenda.

She appeared around the corner, her straight, blond hair billowing out behind her as if she were a model at a photo shoot. Once again she carried a tin in one hand and had a tight grip on Sam’s hand with the other. The boy’s bright blue eyes danced above ruddy cheeks as he held up a fistful of colorful candy canes and grinned. Des shifted in his seat and his throat clogged up with emotions at the sight of Natalie and her winsome son.

“Boy, it’s windy today. Don’t you think so?” she asked but didn’t wait for an answer before rushing on. “Sorry we’re late but we stopped at the store and well, you know how Tavie is. Talked our ears off, didn’t she, Sam? Anyway, that’s why we’re so late today. Have you wondered where we were?”

Only for two freaking days. “No.”

She stepped farther into the barn. “Sam’s pediatric neurologist wanted a colleague to exam him, so we drove to Montpelier.”

“What’s there to do for two days in the state capital?” Damn. He hadn’t meant to ask that and he detested the thread of need evident in his voice. What was that about not making a fool of himself?

“You’d be surprised at how much there is to do.” She gave him a blinding smile. “Maybe you should check it out.”

“Humph.”

“Grumpy again today? Maybe these will help.” She set the tin on the bench. “I made you my special homemade minty shortbread cookies dipped in chocolate and topped with sprinkles. Sam put the Christmas sprinkles on them, didn’t you, Sam?”

The boy grinned and nodded his head and Des bit back the snark that threatened to roll off his tongue. It wasn’t Sam’s fault he was such a dumbass around the boy’s mother.

“Huh, maybe I should’ve asked if you liked mint before I inundated you with it, but I see you ate all the bark, so I guess that answers that.”

She opened the tin and the scents of peppermint and chocolate wafted out. The green cookies were partially coated with chocolate and red, white and green sprinkles on top of that. They looked delicious, but Des scowled at them, refusing to be coaxed out of his mood by her or her baked goods.

“Problem?” Her gaze flicked between him and the cookies.

He fisted his hands to keep from reaching out and caressing her cute little frown. Or better yet, running his tongue over those furrows in her forehead. He swallowed a groan. “If I keep eating what you bring, I’m going to end up as a carnival sideshow.”

She broke into a wide, candid smile, transforming her from attractive to unforgettable. “Didn’t you get the memo? Calories don’t count in December.”

He grumbled but grabbed a cookie and took a bite, closing his eyes as butter, mint and chocolate exploded in his mouth. These were the best yet. No doubt left, he was a goner.

Natalie gave him an expectant gaze. “What do you think?”

That I’ve died and gone to heaven. He shrugged. “They’re pretty good.”

“So…” She met his gaze. “Have you given any thought to making ornaments?”

“Yeah,” he said and winced at the hopeful expression on her face. “The answer’s still no, but—” he held up the half-eaten cookie “—I applaud your effort.”

“Ah, you have a sweet tooth.” She gave him a smile that had him wishing he was the kind of man she deserved. “Good to know.”

“You can bring a whole bakery and the answer would still be no,” he warned and grabbed another cookie. He did not need her getting under his skin any further. The fact that he’d been looking for her for the past two days rankled. And she never quite answered why she’d been gone that long. How many appointments did Sam have? Yo, Gallagher, none of your business. So why was he fixating on it? She didn’t owe him an explanation, just as he didn’t owe her one for refusing to make Christmas-themed glass art pieces.

“But don’t you enjoy the feeling you get from doing a good deed?”

Give the lady points for tenacity. He shook his head. “It might alter people’s expectations of me.”

Instead of being cowed or annoyed by his surly attitude she seemed buoyed, ready to take on the challenge he represented. Des admired that. Yeah, admiration was a nice safe name for what he felt for Natalie Pierce.

“I must say, you’re quite the conundrum.”

“Really? I’ve always considered myself more of an enigma.” He handed a cookie to Sam and winked. Sam grinned and bit the treat in half.

“Tell you what,” Des said and popped the rest of the shortbread into his mouth, but it lost its appeal when her expression turned hopeful again. He was going to disappoint her, but he should be used to disappointing the women in his life. Not that she was in his life. Nope. He didn’t do charming. Why did he always forget that around her? “I’ll make a cash donation to this auction of yours.”

“Thank you. And don’t think I don’t appreciate it, but we would have more earning potential if you made ornaments. More people would attend if we were able to advertise that we’d have your exclusive crafts. Ones that you can’t get anywhere else. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but more people would be bidding on them and that would drive up the price.”

“I thought it was a silent auction.” He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in a “gotcha” gesture.

Natalie stabbed her finger at him. “Okay, you got me there, but when people see all the bids piling up for your ornaments, they’d bid higher.”