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Kyle frowned and shook his head.
“I want him down here, not up there.”
“Your daddy knows how much you like to play hockey. Would you like Santa to bring you a new hockey stick?” Santa asked hopefully.
“Okay,” Kyle said quietly, shrugging his shoulders.
Sam sighed. He’d rather be anywhere except here, listening to a little boy asking Santa to bring his father back. He’d hoped this trip would resolve some issues, restore his confidence so he could do his job. Instead, he now had two more faces he’d never be able to forget.
“What’s your favorite hockey team, Kyle?” Santa asked. “The Ducks?”
“The Ducks are weenies. I like the Canucks.”
Sam laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The boy’s innocent honesty was unexpected and a welcome relief from the serious mood.
Melanie whirled toward him, her eyes narrowed. She left Kyle with Santa and grabbed Sam by the arm, pulling him away from the crowd.
“Mr. LeDoux, I’m glad you think this is all so funny.”
He could see fire in Melanie’s emerald eyes by the glow of the Christmas lights on the trees overhead. Snowflakes clung to her eyelashes and her gold-blond hair.He liked this protective side of her.
“Mrs. Bennett, you misunderstand,” he said softly, wishing he could brush the snow from her hair. “I’m Canadian, and I used to play for the Canucks.”
She looked startled, and he thought a blush touched her cheeks. Looking down, she must have seen that her hand was still on his arm. She snatched it away, and he missed that simple contact between them.
“Melanie,” he began, but she interrupted him.
“Forgiveness. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”
He blinked in surprise. She was right. He wanted forgiveness. Peace of mind. Absolution. Whatever she wanted to call it.
“I’m not sure that I can give you what you want. I’m just not ready.” She looked into his eyes, and he thought he saw a glint of regret. “I’m sorry.”
He nodded. “I’ll wait.”
“I don’t know when—”
“I’ll be in town for a while, doing whatever it is a grand marshal does. When you want to talk, give me a yell. I’ll be the one with the crown and scepter.”
He could have sworn a slight smile touched Melanie’s lips before she walked away.
Chapter Three
The next day, Melanie reached for the rag in the pocket of her coveralls and wiped a damaged piece of the doorjamb on a four-door, 1929 Franklin dualcowl Phaeton. Studying the damaged car part, she knew that it was made from wood and not metal. It was commonly made from ash, and she knew she’d have to cut a new one herself. Luckily, she had just the right board in the storage room.
She’d been working on the Phaeton for a collector for the past eight months. It was one of about five or six left in the world, and she was trying to talk him into donating the vehicle to a museum. She believed that everyone should have a chance to appreciate a classic car like the Phaeton.
It was good to think about her work, rather than the turmoil of her life.
She rubbed her hands together to warm them in the cold garage. Although the four industrial heaters hanging from each corner of the ceiling were turned on high, it wasn’t enough to penetrate through all the layers of clothing she wore to warm her bones. Her fingers were like icicles.
Glancing out the window in the big doors of the bay, she saw it was snowing outside—big, fluffy flakes. The picture-perfect snow was a reminder of the picture-perfect Christmas she wanted to give Kyle.
Tonight, someone else would again dress as Santa and read The Grinch Who Stole Christmas at the public library. Tomorrow, there’d be a snowman-making contest back at the town square. After that, a peewee hockey game at Tucker’s Pond, complete with bonfire, then a free skate and a craft sale. Events were scheduled for nearly every day throughout the next three weeks, and she and Kyle would be attending or participating in all of them.
Soon, she and Kyle would cut their own tree and bring it home and decorate it. They’d go caroling with the church choir and do some Christmas shopping together. They might be small steps to take, but they were important to her—and hopefully special for Kyle. In the meantime, though, it was business as usual.
As she removed the rest of the doorjamb from the car, Melanie heard voices in the office. She assumed it was her father coming in to have some coffee and talk. Since his “retirement” from Hawk’s Garage, he hadn’t missed a day. Jack was probably with him, anxious to get to work on one of his race cars. Then again, maybe it was Brian, ready to work on one of his endless spreadsheets or to hunt down some parts for her on the Internet.
She looked at the office and saw her father and her two brothers waving and grinning from behind the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that separated the office from the garage.
Coffee and doughnuts, a little gossip with whoever stopped in, then work. That was the usual routine at Hawk’s Garage, built on the site of Ezra Packard Hawkins’s smithy. In time, Ezra’s sons had turned it into a carriage-repair business and called itHawkins Livery. With the invention of the automobile, the business was renamed Hawk’s Garage and transformed into a gas station and auto-repair business.
Melanie’s father had added another wing to the garage for classic car restoration and their race-car division. Jack kept the division purposely small, preferring to be very selective in the projects he undertook. Melanie had taken a shine to the intricacies of making antique cars new again, although she still liked to keep her mechanical skills up-to-date in the main repairs and maintenance garage when she had the time.
Brian was less mechanically inclined. Armed with his MBA, he handled the business end and was in charge of finances. Their dad freelanced whenever the spirit moved him.
Melanie always felt secure and loved just knowing that her family was around her. They were her strength, her lifeline. Sure, they worried about her too much and they were overprotective, but she loved them for their support and caring, especially after Mike died.
Melanie sighed. Since last night, she couldn’t stop thinking about Sam LeDoux. Her entire family liked him—and so did everyone else in Hawk’s Lake. What did they know that she didn’t? Was she wrong not to hear him out?
Maybe that would make him feel better, but not her.
She’d always tried to keep her pain to herself. As a kid, she hadn’t had any girlfriends—they couldn’t understand why she’d rather rebuild an engine than chase boys. Her brothers were always hell-bent on teasing her, so they’d be the last two on earth she’d ever confide in. Nor could she talk to her mom, who’d had health issues, and her father had enough worries between her mother being sick and the garage.
So little by little, she’d built a wall around herself—a wall that had become thicker and taller since her marriage.
Lately, she was starting to see the defects in that wall, hairline cracks that continued to grow until it was threatening to fall down around her, leaving her defenses exposed for what they were—lies, halftruths and face-saving devices.
The real truth was that Melanie was afraid of what she might see if she looked inside herself—and too deep into her marriage. There was an empty void in her mind the night of the ice storm. She knew something had happened that night that she couldn’t—or didn’t want to—remember.
Melanie sighed. It’d be so much easier to continue to blame Sam LeDoux than to try and see through the gauzy recesses of her mind.
Tossing and turning all night, she’d thought about the tree lighting and how she’d reacted when she’d found out who he was. She’d become a different woman from the one who had nearly flirted with him earlier—and she didn’t like that side of herself. After all, Sam had only wanted to explain what had happened that fateful night—and she’d shut him down.
It had been easier to dislike him when she hadn’t yet met him, and hadn’t seen the pain in his eyes, an ache so similar to her own.
Did that make her a horrible person?
She found the piece of wood she’d been looking for and walked back into the garage. Another noise signaled that she wasn’t alone. Instead, there was Sam LeDoux himself, leaning against the wall of the garage, wearing a black leather bomber jacket and snug, faded jeans. To her utter mortification, something inside her sizzled.
Why was she so aware of every little detail about him?
“Hello, Melanie. I hope I’m not interrupting you.”
She turned her attention back to the doorjamb, trying to calm the flickers in her belly caused by his deep, sexy voice. “You are.”
Ignoring her response, he asked, “How did you become involved in fixing up antique cars?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. I guess I always liked restoring things to their original state—especially old things. My aunt Betty got me into restoring antique furniture first, and cars came next.”
Why was she telling him all this? She focused on the wood in her hands, preparing it for the jigsaw.
“I think it’s wonderful that you’re so successful at it.” He shifted on his feet, and Melanie figured that he had run out of things to say. “Listen, could I buy you a cup of coffee when you’re done?”
She moved her safety goggles into place and flipped the switch on the jig. It roared to life. Sam stood with his hands in his jacket, awaiting her answer. Couldn’t he take a hint?
“I already had coffee,” she finally said over the noise of the saw.
“Okay. Then how about dinner tonight?”
He couldn’t possibly be asking me out, she thought.
She shut off the jig and studied her cut. Perfect. “As you can see, I’m busy.”
“What about the tomorrow night?”
“Busy.”
To avoid looking at him, Melanie walked down to the other side of the car and inspected the grill. She already knew there was nothing wrong with it, but she measured it just for something to do.
As Sam walked toward her, Melanie felt heat rising in her blood. She told herself that it was anger, nothing more. It certainly wasn’t because he was so handsome and she could smell his outdoorsy scent. His friendly smile made her think of his sensuous lips.
Darn it. What was wrong with her?
The sound of his saddle-colored cowboy boots came even closer as he walked across the concrete floor. Unable to help herself, she looked up and saw that his black hair was windblown and damp from the snow.
A telltale blush crept up her neck and settled on her cheeks.
She waited until her father and brother were bent over the engine of Jack’s race car and out of hearing range before she spoke. “What do you want, Sam?”
In the overhead lights, his eyes were like the color of Hawk’s Lake in the summer.
“To talk.”
Melanie could feel him standing behind her, so she went back around to the other side of the car to get away from him.
He huffed out a breath, clearly frustrated by her refusal. “Look, I spoke with Cal. Since my presence is clearly making things uncomfortable for you, I tried to get out of being the grand marshal, but he said that they couldn’t get a replacement at this point.” He shrugged. “I just want you to know that I tried.”
Melanie froze. He’d actually tried to get out of being the grand marshal—for her? That was considerate of him. Maybe she was being too selfish.
Emotions were churning inside her, giving her a pounding headache. A nagging voice inside her chastised her for being unfair. Maybe listening to him would help her put the past to rest and make it easier for her to have a good Christmas with Kyle.
She sighed. “Okay, Sam…I’ll have dinner with you. Tomorrow night.”
He smiled. “Shall I pick you up? Seven o’clock?”
She shook her head. “I’ll meet you at Momma Luigi’s. It’s on Main Street.”
“I’ll find it,” he said. “It’s a date.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, ignoring the flush of pleasure that heated her face. “It’s just dinner.”
Sam found himself whistling as he drove back to the Pine Tree Motel in Jack Hawkins’s big white pickup, which he’d borrowed for the length of his stay.
He liked both Melanie’s brothers, and her father, too. He’d gotten to know them fairly well last year after the ice storm. They were hard workers, friendly and personable.
But he was attracted to Melanie—he couldn’t deny it. In fact, it was one of the reasons he agreed to return to Hawk’s Lake.
What had made Melanie decide to have dinner with him? Sam figured he’d just worn her down and she was sick of him asking. He could be tenacious when he wanted to be—really tenacious.
She looked sexy in her navy blue mechanic’s jumpsuit. It clung to all her curves. Her emerald eyes looked even bigger and greener through the safety goggles she was wearing.
And she’d finally agreed to hear him out—and for the first time in months, he felt a lightness inside his chest.
Later that evening, the snow was still falling in big feathery flakes as Melanie pulled her forestgreen Blazer into the parking lot across the street from the Hawk’s Lake Public Library.
She smiled down at her son. “We’re here.”
“Cool,” Kyle said, grinning. “I can’t wait to talk to Santa.”
“Santa’s only reading The Grinch today. You already talked to Santa last night.” She got out and opened the passenger door for Kyle, who quickly scrambled out of the Blazer.
“Hold it, mister,” she said. “It’s twenty degrees out.”
She pulled his hat down around his ears, gathered the hood of his parka onto his head and snapped it under his chin. With his sweet face framed in a circle, he looked like a little angel. She took his mittened hand in hers and walked to the street to wait for one of the town’s four snowplows to go by.
Pretty soonKylewouldn’t believe in Santa or the magic of Christmas. Soon he’d be too grown-up to take her hand to cross the street. She sighed. Funny, she thought, how time could be a friend or an enemy.
As they were about to cross, a big white pickup truck ground to a slow, sputtering halt before them. It was driven by…Santa Claus.
Kyle squealed. “It’s Santa, Mom! It’s Santa! What’s he doing in Uncle Jack’s truck?”
Santa got out of the truck, and it looked like he was about to let loose with an expletive before he saw them standing there. Familiar blue eyes met hers above the white beard.
Santa shifted on his feet, looking down. “Um…ho, ho, ho!” he said weakly. “Um…my reindeer are resting and my sleigh is being loaded by my elves, so a nice man by the name of Jack Hawkins let me use his…uh…sleigh on wheels. But there seems to be something wrong with it.”
Melanie knew that voice. That deep, resonating voice. It seemed to melt her bones every time she heard it.
Sam LeDoux.
“Santa, my mom can fix it,” Kyle said, eyes wide, looking up at the big man. “My grandpa says she’s the best car fixer in the whole world.” He swiveled to look at her. “You can fix it, right, Mom?”
“Um…yes…of course, I’ll take a look under the hood, honey.” She walked Kyle to a nearby bench and brushed the snow from it. “You sit right there and don’t move. There are a lot of cars driving into the library lot and it’s dark. This’ll only take a second.”
“Okay.” Kyle watched her with excitement glowing on his face, like his mom helping Santa Claus was the best thing that had ever happened.
Walking back to the truck, she flipped the lever and bent over to look under the hood as Santa—Sam—stood next to her. Their shoulders brushed as they stood side by side looking at the engine.
