A Boulder Creek Christmas (2 page)

“Well, all I have to say is that playing nice is no fun…no fun at all.” Ryan shrugged from his jacket, tossed it into the empty seat beside him, and stilled as Lani secured a towel around his neck. “Ahh…this is the ticket. Just take a little off the top, Lani, and trim it up. And the shave…”

She reached for the electric shears. “If you insist.”

“Oh, I do. I have to look my best tonight. The auction starts in a few hours.”

“Auction?”

“You know…Fighters for Hire to raise money for the Boulder Creek Community Garden. It's this year's community service project.”

“Oh, right…of course. How could I forget?”

Her tone betrayed her, and Ryan's slanted look told her he sensed the truth; the auction was all she had thought about for several days now…the better part of the week since the plans for the garden garnered final approval. It would be planted on the North end of the town center, midway between the fire hall and Styles and Smiles.

Since Ryan had become captain of the fire department three years ago, he led his crew in an annual Christmas holiday service project aptly named Fighters for Hire. Each member of the crew volunteered to be auctioned out for a day's worth of hours during the coming year, completing a list of honey-do projects for the highest bidder. The fundraiser proved wildly popular, and its success was renowned across a five-county radius. Copycat auctions sprang up across the region, and news reporters flocked to cover the event, headlining it on all four local channels during the nightly eleven o'clock slot.

Three years ago, funds went to Children's Hospital, two years ago they were earmarked for the local animal shelter, and last year the Boulder Creek Senior Center benefitted. This year the community would benefit from a community garden and greenhouse meant to supply vegetables to town residents via the local food ministry…if the funds proved to be enough to carry the project.

“Really…how
could
you?” Ryan winked. “I'm sure Chloe's mentioned it at least a hundred times. She was on the planning board.”

“I know, and yes.” Alani could almost feel Mrs. Wexell's stare burning a hole through her back as she worked to tame Ryan's unruly hair. She lowered her voice. “She has mentioned it a time or two…or ten.”

“So you're coming?”

“No…not this year.”

“Why not?” He frowned as disappointment shadowed his eyes. “You've never missed the festivities.”

“I know but this year I have…other plans.” Alani reached for the spray bottle and, with a few quick pulls of the trigger, dampened his hair. The extensive media coverage assured that, despite her absence from the gala, she'd get her fill of Ryan in his tux, his rugged good looks groomed to perfection while the cobalt tie and cummerbund his sister had described in detail to Alani enhanced the blue of his eyes. The camera loved him, and women flocked to him, falling over themselves in their attempts to garner undivided attention.

Face it—everyone loved Ryan Connolly. He rescued children and puppies from burning buildings on a weekly basis and had a smile that could melt ice off a snowman's hat. Yet he'd stolen Alani's heart, and then cast it aside without so much as a glance in the proverbial rearview mirror.

Even so, by all accounts Ryan remained the town sweetheart…an angel by popular decree.

But he wasn't Lani's angel...not by a longshot. And he'd never be, not as long as she had a breath in her. Once bitten, twice shy. And she remained a self-professed, virtual recluse when it came to Ryan Connolly.

So this year she'd put her foot down and stay far away from him on his night in the eye of the media storm. She didn't want his attention. She'd had that sort of attention a handful of years ago, and it had brought only heartache.

“Other plans, huh? Well, is that so?” Ryan's voice dipped and danced with the holiday music as he cocked an eyebrow and studied her reflection in the mirror. “What sort of plans…if you don't mind me asking?”

“I do… mind, that is.” Alani took up a comb, tugged the close-set teeth through the thick waves of his Ryan's hair with a little more force than necessary. Water dripped along the nape of his neck and his slight grimace brought a prickle of satisfaction. It was small compensation for the misery he'd caused her over the years. She'd trusted him once, with her heart and her future, and he'd shattered that trust; she wouldn't again make the mistake of trusting him.

Even so, how could she begin to explain that for three years running at the Fighters for Hire auction her heart had faltered with waves of disappointment as she'd watched him go to the highest bidder? Last year the victor was some bleached-blonde in a low-cut sequined number who'd traveled from two towns over for the sole purpose of snagging Ryan's handyman services. Alani could blame no one but herself—pride kept her from bidding because, after all, when it came to Ryan Connolly good sense dictated she would be best served by keeping her money—and her heart—tucked away deep in her pocket.

Nonetheless, Alani could use help with a few projects around the small, aging house that she'd inherited from her grandmother when Grandma Cora passed away a year ago; it was laden with character and warm memories, yet falling apart at the seams. But she'd have to figure out how to accomplish at least the most pressing projects on her own, because she'd never be able to pay Ryan—or anyone else, for that matter.

So, what was the point of going to the auction? She'd write a check for a modest donation to help support the community garden—an amount she could afford to part with—and call it a day. Spending the evening tucked away with a paperback and a cup of hot chocolate was the smartest move she could make…affording as much distance as possible between her and Ryan Connolly.

2

Ryan relaxed as Lani worked a miracle on his hair. He'd never come into Styles and Smiles requesting a trim before, and he wasn't sure what made him stop by this afternoon. It was as if angels took him by the hand and led him straight to the doorway.

“How's that?” Lani asked as she snipped and smoothed a section of hair into place. “Short enough?”

“Uh huh.” He couldn't manage much more than the simple utterance with his gaze trained on her, watching hair the color of burnished autumn leaves cascade over her slender shoulders to kiss her waist. He'd always loved her hair…and her large, almond-shaped green eyes flecked with gold at the edges, like sun-dappled gems found along the river's edge. Her touch was feather-light along his scalp, soothing. He felt the tension ease from his shoulders. “Good. That's…good.”

Lani ran her fingers through his hair, coaxing it into place. “And you said you need a shave, as well?”

“Yes, if you don't mind.” Ryan was nearly moved to tears by her tender touch. His back ached from the pressure of holding and aiming a fire hose in his attempts to squelch the flames of the brush fire. His throat felt as if someone had rubbed it raw with sandpaper. Weariness crept into his bones, and he wondered how he'd gather the energy to steer the fundraiser tonight. All the while, he reminded himself that Lani's ministrations were merely business; she showed the same attention to all her clients.

“Here.” Lani, as if she had sensed his thoughts, handed him a bottle of water, cold from the small fridge beneath a built-in counter that served as a drink station. “Drink that while you wait. It will take me a few minutes to prepare the razor and shaving cream.”

“Thanks. You always seem to know what I need.” Ryan paused to drain the better half of the bottle in a few long gulps. The cool soothed straight down to his belly. He swiped a hand across his mouth and shook his head. “How do you always know?”

“I pay attention. And I suppose I'm just blessed with that ability.” She turned away from him and crossed toward the supply room, pausing to nod to Mrs. Wexell and flash a pair of fingers, indicating her daughter should arrive to take her home soon. “Keep a close eye on him, Mrs. Wexell.”

“I'm keeping an eye on both of you.” She winked. “Two eyes…one for each of you.”

“It's more than being attentive.” Ryan called to Lani. He drained the bottle as she disappeared through the doorway.

Mrs. Wexell watched from her seat, grinning as if she knew a secret not another soul in the world might be privy to. The woman, a widow for nearly a decade now, clearly still had every fiber of her wits about her. “Matthew, chapter five, verses twenty-three and twenty-four,” Mrs. Wexell murmured, “It would do you good to read them, son, and take the words to heart.”

Before Ryan could make sense of the comment the salon's entrance door opened, ushering in a burst of cold air and a drift of snowflakes as Mrs. Wexell's daughter arrived to fetch her home. Jill Wexell-Walland paused beside Ryan's chair and they chatted briefly as she inquired about the cause of the sirens earlier that day. Ryan obliged a brief explanation and, satisfied, Jill bundled her mother into her long wool coat.

“Verses twenty-three and twenty-four are waiting,” Mrs. Wexell repeated as the door slipped closed behind her and her daughter. Ryan was left alone with holiday music accompanied by Lani's soft singing that drifted from the supply room.

She sang like an angel, and Ryan leaned forward in the chair in search of a glimpse of her, until she rounded the corner and caught him peeking.

“You're going to fall on your face if you keep that up.” She chuckled, offering the slightest wisp of a smile. “Mrs. Wexell left?”

“Yes. Jill came for her. She left a check for payment on the counter. It's just the two of us now.”

“That could prove dangerous.”

“On the contrary, I'd never hurt you, Lani.”

“Hmm…too late for that.”

“Care to elaborate?”

“No.” Lani moved like liquid silver as she juggled the shaving bowl in one hand and fetched a towel from the warmer with the other, shutting the warmer door with a swing of her hips. She closed the distance between them and motioned for him to lie back before she placed the towel over his face, wrapping it gently to cover him forehead to base of the neck. The world melted away and all that was left was moist, soothing heat and the scent of Lani…something softly floral with a tinge of citrus.

“Relax. I'm not going to lop off an ear or nick your cheek. I've done this before, you know.”

“I know. Sorry.” Ryan unclenched his hands and splayed them over his chest. “It's been a day.”

“You mentioned it proved a rough one, and I heard the firehouse sirens a while ago, saw you rush out on a truck.”

“Hard to miss the sirens.” So she'd seen him leave. Ryan wondered if she'd worried over the crew…over
him
. If so, her voice provided no clue, and he couldn't see her expression with his eyes shielded.

“You want to talk about it?”

“Where to start…” He sighed as the warmth from the towel seeped to his bones, relaxing him further, and images flashed through his mind. “Old man Mulligan thought it would be wise to burn brush he'd gathered—”

“Not that huge pile from the trees he trimmed—the one that's been sitting in his side yard?”

“Yes, that very pile—and all was going as planned until this storm blew in. The wind kicked up and sparks flew. They ignited the Turner's shed along with two gallons of mower gas left in reserve from the last cut of the season.”

“Oh, no…”

“Oh, yes. Then the hay bundled in the Stewart's field—” Ryan stilled as Lani removed the towel and a single-edge razor glinted beneath the shop lights, mere inches from his jaw. “Wait, are you sure you know how to use that?”

“As well as you know how to use a fire hose.”

“OK then…” He relaxed once more. “Enough said. You get the picture….about the brush fire, I mean.”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Thankfully, no.” Ryan held his breath as the razor made several long, smooth strokes over a bristly length of skin. “But it will take a while for the collective insurance companies to sort things out.”

“That's sad, this close to Christmas.”

“Yes, from the look on Mrs. Mulligan's face, Old Man Mulligan might be waiting for Santa's arrival from his living room sofa this year.”

“Oh, no.” Lani laughed, and the sound danced over the glass display shelves like confetti. “Let's hope not.”

Ryan touched her wrist, stilling the razor as his gaze connected with hers. “Won't you come tonight, Lani?”

“No.” Her gaze faltered, drifting right and away from him. “No. I can't.”

“Even for me?” He tucked a finger beneath her chin and drew her back. “Where's your Christmas spirit?”

“It's right here.” She hummed a few bars along with “We Three Kings”
as it piped through the speakers. “See?”

“It's a start.” He paused, searching for the right words. “Why are you so put out with me, Lani?”

“You don't know?”

“I know what you
think
I did, but I'm not at all sure your account is the way it actually happened. Why don't we swap versions tonight? I'll swing by your house and pick you up. We can ride to the auction together.”

“You mean…like a date?”

“Sure.” Ryan's voice brightened. Now they were getting somewhere. “If you want to call it that.”

“I don't, and no, thank you.” Lani leaned in and pressed a hand to his forehead as she finished attacking the stubble along his jawline with the razor. “You must be suffering from a fever to even consider such a thing.”

“I'm perfectly lucid.” Ryan spoke carefully around the blade. He was regretting his decision to ask her to include a shave, but the mirror told him he couldn't back out now, with half of his face clean and the other still covered in a scruffy winter blanket. “How long are you gonna hold your grudge over something that happened years ago?”