A Bramble House Christmas (Carrigans of the Circle C Book 6) (3 page)

He wondered why Willa hadn’t booked the bigger space for herself and her son. She must be feeling flush, after all, given the money she’d inherited from his father’s estate.

Downstairs, no one was present, except for a dog sleeping by the fire in the sitting room. About the size of a small lab, it had the sharp ears and eyes of a German Shepherd, but the quiet disposition of an area rug. After sleepily raising his head, to give Finn the once-over, the dog sank back into his nap.

Finn went to make friends, checking the tag on the collar as he did so. “Hi, Ace. Looks like you have the best seat in the house.” Finn straightened, then moved on. The door to the breakfast room was open, so he went inside.

The table was set, as it had been last night. On a long sideboard were thermoses of hot water and coffee. He helped himself to a mug of the coffee, then headed to the window again. This time he was looking out the back of the house with a view of the carriage house and what was probably a vegetable or flower garden in the summer. A flash of green at the far corner of the garden caught his eye, and he moved closer for a better view.

The green was Scout Fairchild’s jacket. The boy was rolling a ball of snow, which was growing noticeably larger with each rotation. A moment later his mother came into view. Willa was wearing a white jacket, with a fur-lined hood pulled up over her head, red mittens, and a loosely looped red scarf.

Willa was also rolling a ball of snow—this one about twice as big as her son’s.

Finn drank his coffee—which was damn good—and watched as Willa picked up her snowball and placed it on top of an even larger ball that must have been made earlier. Next Scout added his own effort—the head. And thus a snowman was born.

Willa unwove her scarf and donated it to the snowman. Scout added three brown, round, flat objects for buttons, and a carrot nose. Mother and son stood back to contemplate for a few moments. Then Willa broke two dead branches off a nearby aspen and added arms.

Finally they seemed satisfied. Willa took out her phone and snapped a “selfie” with herself, her son and the snowman. Then she took a picture with just Scout and the snowman.

It should have been a heartwarming scene. Since this was Scout’s first encounter with snow, undoubtedly this was also the first time he’d made a snowman, too. But the mother’s and son’s expressions were so serious.

He must have been concentrating on the outdoor scene harder than he’d realized, because when the connecting door from the kitchen opened, he was startled. Eliza entered with a bowl of fruit salad, which she placed on the sideboard. Today she was wearing black leggings, short boots, and another God-awful Christmas sweater, this one featuring a reindeer with a red pompom for a nose.

“Good morning. I hope you slept well?”

Before he could answer, an elderly woman with regal posture entered the room and claimed the chair with the best view of the snow-covered garden. Her gray hair was piled into a sizeable bun, and she was dressed in a tweed skirt and cashmere sweater.

“This is Finn Knightly, Aunt Mable. He’s the children’s book illustrator I was telling you about.”

Eliza’s introduction was met with barely concealed disinterest on the older woman’s face. “Could you be so good as to pour me some tea, Eliza?”

“Of course.”

Finn took a seat to Mable’s right. Mable’s pursed mouth, and her short, jerky head movements made him think of on owl. A very old, very tall, very thin owl. “That was quite the storm last night.”

“Snow and wind.” Mable shrugged. “What do you expect when you’re in Montana in December?”

“Fair enough.” Finn met Eliza’s apologetic expression with an unworried grin.

Willa and her son showed up then, cheeks and finger-tips tinged with pink. “Oh, that coffee smells good.” Willa went straight to the sideboard. “Scout would you like some hot cocoa?”

“Yes, please.”

“So what did you think of the snow?” Finn asked.

“It’s very cold.” Scout shivered, just thinking about it.

“What did you expect?” Mable asked. It seemed to be her stock comment for the morning.

Scout shrugged. “I thought it would be more like whipped cream. And not so heavy.”

“Did you taste it?” Finn wondered.

“I hope not,” Willa said.

Scout gave her a sheepish smile. “It wasn’t sweet at all. It didn’t taste like anything.”

“Of course it didn’t. Snow is simply crystalized water,” Mable said.

“But wouldn’t it be awesome if it
did
taste like whipped cream?” Eliza was back, this time with a tray containing a basket of scones that smelled and looked freshly baked.

“What a treat,” Willa murmured. “Does it matter where we sit?”

“Anywhere you like. Marshall and I will be joining you once the frittata is out of the oven. Is there anything special Scout would like? We can make him a boiled, or fried egg. We also have boxed cereal if he prefers.”

“Oh, don’t worry about Scout. He’s used to hos—”

“—Mom.” Scout scowled at his mother.

Willa brought her hand to her mouth. “Sorry. I shouldn’t answer for him. Is there anything special you’d like, Scout?”

The little boy shook his head, but at that point Finn was no longer following the conversation. His gaze was riveted to the ring on Willa’s right hand, a one carat, Montana sapphire that he’d last seen in his mother’s jewelry box.

He wasn’t the only one who noticed.

“That’s a lovely ring, dear,” Mable commented. “It reminds me very much of a ring my great-grandmother is wearing in the only photo we still have of her. Would you mind allowing me to take a closer look?”

Finn frowned at this. One carat Montana sapphires weren’t exactly a dime a dozen. And this one had a unique setting. Of course Mable was old. Probably she was mistaken.

Willa slipped the ring off her finger so she could pass it to Mable. “It was a gift from a patient of mine. I’m a nurse. An RN.”

“A rather extravagant gift,” Mable murmured, as she held the ring this way, then that. “Extraordinary,” she added before returning the ring.

“Do your patients often fall in love with you and shower you with expensive gifts?” Finn asked, hoping his tone was light.

Willa quickly replaced it on her finger. “It wasn’t like that. My patient was a very sweet man in his early sixties. He had pulled the ring out of a drawer one evening and was just sitting in bed, looking at it. I commented on how lovely it was. I had never seen a Montana sapphire before—didn’t even know there was such a thing. My patient seemed surprised that I liked it. Apparently he’d given it to his wife as a wedding present but she hadn’t liked it and had never even worn it.”

Mable clucked with disapproval.

“He and his wife were since divorced. Their daughters had never cared for the ring either, they said it was too old-fashioned. As he knew he was dying. he said he wanted to give it to me. That it would make him happy to know someone was wearing it and enjoying it.”

Finn struggled to keep his composure. It was possible she was telling the truth. But if so, it meant his father had given her fifty thousand dollars
and
a very valuable ring. And yet she sat there all wide-eyed and innocent, as if she had nothing in the world to be ashamed of. “That’s quite the generous patient you had.”

“In my profession you meet all kinds, but this man was such a kind and generous soul. I didn’t have the heart to turn down his gift, even though I felt uncomfortable accepting it.”

Finn wondered what she would say if she knew she was sitting with her patient’s son right now. He was almost tempted to reveal the connection, to demand she tell him everything she knew about Greg Conrad—and why he’d left her fifty thousand dollars, not to mention that ring.

But chances were she’d only clam up. So he took a drink of coffee instead. And a moment later Eliza and her husband emerged from the kitchen.

Marshall went around the table, dishing out the frittata, while Eliza passed the fruit salad, and then the scones and preserves.

The large table had been made up for seven, so once Eliza and Marshall had finished serving and taken their seats, one chair remained unoccupied.

“Is someone else joining us?” Finn asked.

“Oh, that’s for Santa,” Eliza said. “But he said he’s too busy getting ready for the Marietta Christmas Stroll to eat.”

“Did you say Santa?” Willa asked.

“Yes. He’s booked into the Red room. He baked the cookies I mentioned last night.”

“Um.” Scout looked uncomfortable. “You know there’s no such thing as a real Santa, right?”

“Don’t tell Kris Krinkles that. He hates to be told he’s imaginary.” Something out the window caught Eliza’s attention then. “Look at all the chickadees on the snowman.”

They all turned to the window and it was true. A half dozen little birds with black caps and plump white bellies were flitting around the snowman Willa and Scout had made that morning.

“What did you use for buttons?” Finn asked, noticing that they seemed to be the big attraction for the birds.

Scout and his mother exchanged a guilty look, and then Willa said. “Sorry, we didn’t know they’d been specially baked by Santa.”

“Well, the birds are sure enjoying them,” Mable said placidly.

W
illa was beginning to wonder if coming to Marietta had been such a good idea, after all. Scout seemed rather disappointed after his first experience with snow. And the people here—while they were friendly enough—made her feel a bit uncomfortable.

That sharp-eyed old woman had been so strange about her ring. And then the hunk from Colorado—Finn something or other—had appeared to be joking when he asked about patients falling in love with her. But she’d heard the disapproving note in his voice.

Maybe she
shouldn’t
have accepted the ring. But it had made poor Mr. Conrad happy. And it was definitely too late now to give it back.

At least Eliza seemed nice, and fairly normal. But those sweaters. And the way she kept talking about Santa, as if he truly was a guest at the B&B and had baked those cookies last night.

She spread huckleberry preserves over her scone and took a bite.
Oh, my
. At least the food here was amazing.

“So what are you and Scout planning for today?” Finn asked her.

He sounded friendly enough now, but she answered cautiously. “We’ll probably do a little shopping in the morning and hit the Marietta Christmas Stroll later in the afternoon.”

Scout was looking forward to the hay wagon ride. And she wanted to get his photo with Santa—it would be the first in two years that wouldn’t be taken in a hospital.

“Make sure you pick up your Marietta Stroll buttons at one of the downtown shops,” Eliza advised them. “The button is only three dollars and it gains you admittance to all the events, including the hayride and the petting zoo.”

She turned to Finn. “Are you planning to take in the Christmas Stroll, as well?”

“Definitely. I’ll be taking lots of photos for my latest project. The more Christmassy, the better.”

Marshall caught Willa’s eye. “Finn is an illustrator of children’s books.”

“How interesting.” So he was here for work. Somehow she felt more comfortable about him now that she knew that. “Do you create the illustrations from photographs?”

“Sometimes. Or sketches. But when the temps go below freezing, that’s problematic.” He flexed his fingers, which would no doubt freeze if he tried to sit outside with a sketchbook.

“Tell us more about your current project.” Eliza’s eyes were bright with interest. “We’ve had writers stay with us before, but never an illustrator.”

Finn looked a little uncomfortable, as if he didn’t enjoy being the center of attention. “The story I’m working on now takes place in a small town at Christmas. That’s really all I’m at liberty to say. I don’t write the stories. I just make the pictures. In this case I’ll be making watercolors based on my photos, then when I’m back at my studio, I’ll scan them into my computer and finish them up on Photoshop.”

“What other books have you worked on?” Over the years she and Scout had read countless stories...most of them during one of his interminable hospital stays. “Maybe Scout and I have read one of your books.”

“Too many to name, really. I work with more than one author.”

“What’s your last name again?”

He hesitated. “Knightly.”

“Hm.” She tried really hard, but couldn’t recall seeing Finn Knightly on a book jacket.

“Don’t feel bad. All the glory goes to the authors. Hardly anyone remembers the name of the guy who does the illustrations.”

“It’s the same for us nurses. All the glory goes to the doctors.”

He smiled briefly at that, and she had the oddest sensation of familiarity. As if she’d met him before.

But she would not have forgotten meeting a man as good-looking as Finn Knightly.

She noticed him staring at her ring, again, and realized she’d been twirling it with her thumb. She always felt self-conscious when people commented on it. She’d considered putting it away for safekeeping. But Greg Conrad had asked her to wear it. To enjoy it. And to think of him now and again.