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Jason easily leaped onto the low stage, then reached back to offer her a hand up. More than a little jealous of his athletic maneuver, she shook her head. “I’ll just take the stairs.”
That was all she said, but compassion flooded his eyes, and he jumped down as easily as he’d gone up. “You’re hurt, aren’t you? That’s why you came back here, because something happened and you can’t dance anymore.”
His quick assessment came in a sympathetic tone that made her want to scream in frustration and weep at the same time. Getting a firm grip on the emotions he’d unleashed, she straightened her back as far as it would go and gazed defiantly up at him. She might have lost a lot of things, but she still had her pride.
“I’ve changed my mind about the sets,” she said curtly. “Thank you for coming in.”
He didn’t even flinch. Small as she was, most people backed off when she glared at them the way she was doing now. Apparently, Jason was made of sterner stuff, and she grudgingly admitted he had some grit to go with those rugged looks and killer smile. “You’re not getting rid o’ me that easy, Miss Amy Morgan.”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“Wasn’t giving you any,” he reasoned, folding his arms as if daring her to argue with him. When she didn’t, he went on. “I admire anyone who can take a hit, then pick themselves up and keep on going. You’re tougher than you look.”
No one had ever spoken to her that way, so directly and with such obvious sincerity. Accustomed to people who fawned or blustered depending on the circumstances, she wasn’t sure how to take it. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome. Mind if I ask what happened?”
She winced, but decided that since he seemed determined to work with her, it was easier to get the explanations out of the way sooner rather than later. “In a nutshell, two years ago I was driving back to D.C. and took a shortcut that turned into a patch of ice. Next thing I knew, I woke up strapped into a hospital bed, completely immobilized. They told me I had a fifty-fifty chance of ever walking again.”
“Guess you proved them wrong.”
“That was the plan.”
The response came out more tersely than she’d intended, but Jason didn’t seem the least bit fazed. “Good for you.”
Flashing her an encouraging smile, he offered his arm, and for some insane reason she took it. The old-fashioned gesture seemed appropriate for him while standing in this old building, dressed like someone who spent his days working hard. Now that she thought about it, he reminded her of the guy on the wrapper of her paper towels.
Only this lumberjack had a real twinkle in his eyes, and he’d managed to get past her usual defenses without any effort at all. That could only mean one thing: he was trouble. And she’d had enough trouble lately to last her the rest of her life.
* * *
Amy Morgan was still the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, Jason thought while he inspected the progress Fred had made on the set pieces. Some were partially assembled, but others lay in a heap backstage with hand-drawn schematics thumbtacked to them. Everything was still in raw form, with no paint or details at all.
It was a big job to complete in only three weeks, and with the holiday shopping season in full swing, it was all hands on deck filling custom orders at the mill in time for Christmas delivery. While he’d much rather be back in Oregon logging, his first obligation was to the family business. It wasn’t only Jason and his brother relying on it now. A dozen other people worked there, too, and closing the doors wasn’t an option for any of them.
But if he didn’t take on Amy’s project, who would? Everyone was busy this time of year, and being single, he had more spare hours than most. Each day she spent trying to find a handyman was another day of lost build time. If he didn’t step up, when someone finally did it might be too late, and she might have to cancel the show. Some of those kids were probably the same way she’d been, working hard and eager to get their turn in the spotlight. He’d feel awful if they lost out and he could’ve done something to prevent it.
“I know there’s a lot to do,” she lamented with a worried look. “Uncle Fred’s collision shop just lost a good mechanic to that new chain over in Cambridge, and he’s been working extra hours to keep up. He fit this in whenever he could.”
“Yeah, it’s tough.”
She seemed to think he was framing a no, and she stepped forward with desperation clouding her china-doll features. “I can pay you for your time. It wouldn’t be much, but you could use it to buy some nice Christmas presents for...whoever.”
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. Drama—especially female drama—he 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 ‘known 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 (#ulink_eb81a0e9-c4d0-5290-928d-2aea715d8f2f)
“She 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 gut—and 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 balleri—ballet 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?”
