Christmas Romance (Best Christmas Romances of 2013) (15 page)

They stopped by the door, and he gently spun her toward him. “I could have sworn you are a bona fide, gussied-up, never-seen-a-sheep-in-her-life city girl.” His voice was low and husky.

“Remember, I was intimately acquainted with sheep at an early age.” She tilted her head up to see him better.

The air charged with longing.

“I seem to recall that.” His face was close to hers, his expression sober.

She looked into his eyes and caught a glimpse of hope. Her heart swelled with anticipation.

He bent down and brushed her lips with hers. His lips tasted of fresh air with a hint of the coffee he’d had after dinner. This close, she caught a whiff of his aftershave, an outdoors piney smell.

She hungrily responded, but he stiffened and broke off the kiss.

“I’m sorry. That was a mistake.” He took a step back. “I’ll see you tomorrow when Charlie brings you for your car.”

She licked her lips, savoring his taste, and stifling her shame.

“Goodnight then.” He walked back to his truck.

She opened the door and gave one more glance in his direction.

He was standing by the truck as if he was waiting until she went inside.

Damn him.

With dignity, she walked into the inn and shut the door behind her. It took every ounce of strength she had to keep from crying until she got to her room.

The next morning, Clara took a brief shower and changed into the clean clothes she’d brought from New Jersey “just in case.” Although she’d planned to make the trip to Roxbury from Morristown in one day, she liked to be prepared for anything.

Make-up hid the circles under her eyes from a restless sleep.

Breakfast was a custom-made omelet, sautéed vegetables, and a golden muffin served in a re-created colonial dining room replete with maple furniture and knick-knacks.

Lucy sat down with her while she ate. “Can you tell me about The Perfect Plate? The concept intrigues me. I took some business classes in college and I may have some ideas for you.”

“That would be great! I can use all the help I can get.” Clara smiled. “I like to entertain and create the perfect setting for a meal. Inviting people who will mesh together is important, too. Friends wanted me to cater events for them. I tried that for a while.” She shrugged. “But being responsible for all the minutia of what went on every second was too stressful. I lost the reason I loved to do it in the first place.”

The omelet cut easily with her fork. She scooped a cheesy slice of heaven into her mouth. “Oh, yum.” She took another bite before answering Lucy’s question. “I like to discover things—like your amazing inn— and share them with others. I was surfing the web one day and I saw someone in California had created a business out of doing exactly that. She called it The Joyful Table. It sounded perfect.”

Another forkful of omelet entered Clara’s mouth, and its exquisite taste stoked her enthusiasm for her business. “I started six months ago. Members pay a fee, and artisans pay me a commission on what they sell to my group. I began to think about all the amazing craftspeople there are in New York and New England, as well as south toward Virginia, and I realized I could expand it to weekend trips with stays in unique inns, like this one.”

Lucy clapped her hands. “What a fabulous idea! I’d love to have your group stay here.”

Clara grinned. After all the nay-sayers, it was nice to find someone who didn’t think she and her idea were crazy.

“Like Charlie told you, I’m on our town’s board of directors,” Lucy said. “Roxbury is a great tourist destination. We have the scenery, and there are plenty of artists around here. Actually, any place in the Catskills or Finger Lakes region would be ideal, but not as good as Roxbury.” She grinned and sipped her coffee. “Have you ever thought about expanding to website sales?”

“Not really. I’m not sure how that works.”

“Me either, but I’ll think about it and send my ideas along by email. You can tell me what you think. And we can figure out the best arrangements for your guests, too.”

Clare smiled. “That would be great.” She turned the expression to a frown. “There’s only one problem. Sam adamantly refuses to talk to the group about cheese making.”

Lucy laughed. “Sam’s not the only craftsman in town.” She got up and ruffled through a basket of business cards. “Here.” She handed several cards to Clara. “Heidi makes honey, Drake crafts baskets, and Hassan does ceramics. I’m sure they’ll all be open to your idea.”

Clara smiled, but sadness sat in her stomach. If she didn’t get to spend time with Sam, how would she be able to reignite his spirit?

She ate a few slices of the Clementine artfully arranged on her plate, savoring the sweet juices. “What is it with Sam? Why is he so grumpy? And why doesn’t he like Christmas?”

Lucy tapped her mug. “He claims he doesn’t want any attachments. Charlie grew up here with Sam and says Sam used to be different, before...” She pursed her lips closed.

“Before what?”

Shaking her head, Lucy said, “It’s not my story to tell. You’ll have to ask Sam. Let’s just say something awful happened one Christmas and he’s never recovered.”

“How long ago?” Clara asked.

“I think it was his freshman year in college.”

“Some time ago?”

“Yes.” Lucy looked up from her study of her coffee and locked eyes with Clara. Slowly, a smile blossomed across her face. “Too long. It’s time for him to rediscover what the holidays are all about.”

Clara smiled in return. “I couldn’t agree more.”

I’m not done with you yet, Sam Richards.

****

Sam had changed the transmission fluid before Charlie delivered Clara to his house, hoping to speed her on her way, but as soon as she stepped out of Charlie’s Jeep, his heart gave an unfamiliar lurch.

The jeans and plum sweater she wore revealed more of her body than the fashionable skirt she’d worn the day before. Her figure was trim and curvy in all the right places, but it was her smile that tugged at his emotions. Her expression promised the world.

Maybe it was time to stop running from life. If she could get over her father’s Christmas accident, then...

He shoved the thought from his mind. His situation was totally different.

Totally.

Charlie called out the Jeep window. “I’ve gotta go. Once I return with the eggs, Lucy has a honey-do list as long as my arm.”

Sam grinned and waved.

Clara walked to him with a backpack, purse, and paper bag in her hands.

“You’re ready to go,” he said pointing to the SUV. He made his voice as gruff as possible to hide his churning emotions.

“That’s wonderful. Thank you.”

He stepped back, afraid she might throw her arms around him with gratitude. The kiss last night had been a huge mistake. He’d spent most of last night trying to figure out what had come over him, to ensure it didn’t happen again.

“How much do I owe you for the fluid?” She placed the paper bag on the hood of her car and fumbled through her purse.

“Put that away. You treated me to dinner last night. That’s enough.”

She looked up at him, her eyelashes thick around her deep brown eyes.

He opened the driver’s side door to her SUV. “You should be fine to get back to New Jersey now.”

Leave. Please. Leave so I can pretend to be happy again.

“I have this for you.” She handed him the paper bag. “I got it at the shop last night.”

He clenched his jaw. “I don’t believe in Christmas, remember? Give it to someone who’ll appreciate it.”

She really needed to leave.

“I think you’re fooling yourself, Sam Richards. Why don’t you open it and see? It reminded me of you.”

Reluctantly, he opened the bag and drew out the paper-wrapped object.

“Open it.” The grin lit up her beautiful eyes.

Slowly, he unwrapped the paper bag and exposed a border collie pulling four children on a sled.

“There are four of you, like you told me,” Clara said. “You and your brothers and sisters!”

Bile rose in his throat and his hand griped the carving a little too hard.

The dog’s tail broke off and fell to the ground.

“One died,” he managed to choke out. “There’s only three now.” He stuffed the gift back in the bag, picked up the dog’s tail, and threw it in. “Hailey died at Christmas. My beautiful teenage sister died because I talked my parents into letting her go skiing.” He glared at Clara. “Now, do you get it? I don’t want pain like that again—not from you or anyone else. Can’t you go away? Just go!”

Turning away to hide the tears that threatened to fall, he stalked back to his house, unaware he still had the paper bag in his hand.

The engine of Clara’s SUV started up smoothly.

At least I can do something right.

Chapter Six

Over the next week, Sam did the bare minimum to keep his animals cared for and his business running. He avoided town and drove to Stamford, thirteen miles each way, to get his supplies.

One evening, about a week after Clara left, he heard a knock on the back door. A moment later, the door opened, and Charlie walked in with a six-pack of beer.

And a wreath.

“You can take that back with you.” Sam pointed at the greenery.

“Stop being such a jerk,” Charlie replied as he took out two bottles and placed them on the table. The rest of the beer went in the refrigerator.

“It’s my house. I can be whatever I want.” Sam hung the towel over the oven door handle.

“Lucy says ‘no.’”

Sam laughed. “I don’t have to answer to Lucy. You do.”

Charlie slid him a beer. “She’s coming back, you know.”

“Who?” Sam knew damn well who Charlie meant.

“Clara. She and Lucy put their heads together and came up with a scheme for The Plate whatever—”

“Perfect Plate.”

“Yeah.”

“I told Clara I wouldn’t do it.” Sam pulled out his kitchen table chair. The beer was his favorite—Sam Adams.

“They’re working around you being a jackass.”

Sam slugged back a mouthful of beer.
Why can’t people leave me alone?
“They can do whatever they want as long as they don’t include me or—” he gestured at the wreath— “or try to force Christmas on me.”

Charlie folded his hands on the table and stared at Sam. “Hailey died ten years ago, Sam. She’d hate to see you like this.”

Sam pushed his chair back, stood, and walked to the sink. He leaned against it and drummed his fingers on the porcelain. ”She wouldn’t have died if not for me.”

Charlie shook his head in exasperation. “I can’t believe how many times we’ve been over this, and you still won’t let it go. Sometimes I think we should get one of those—what do you call them?—dominatrices to beat it out of you.”

The image was so startling and unexpected, Sam laughed. Charlie joined in. The laughter boiled up from every part of Sam’s being, sparked by the tiny flame Clara had lit the week before. Soon Sam was on the floor, arms around his knees, roaring.

Suddenly, everything changed. The hiccups of hysteria gave way to the sobs of pain.

Charlie climbed down on the floor next to him.

“If only I hadn’t told Mom and Dad to let her go.” Sam’s words staccatoed between sobs.

“She would have wheedled her way on that ski trip. You know that. She was eighteen and had your dad wrapped around her little finger. After three sons, your dad didn’t stand a chance.” 

“But—”

“It was an accident, Sam. Two kids collided. It wasn’t your fault. Why can’t you believe that? Why can’t you stop punishing yourself?”

Sam forced himself to consider the question as he got his sobs under control. He rested his back against the cabinet and re-imagined the scene from that long ago night.

He’d gotten home for his first Christmas break the evening before. Immediately, Hailey had started badgering him for support to go on the holiday ski trip with the senior class.

“Mom’s got one of her bad feelings,” she’d whined. “She doesn’t want me to go. Dad’s wavering, I can tell. All they need is a little push from you, big brother, and I’m golden.”

He’d laughed and acceded to her wish.

She’d gotten her ski trip, and the unthinkable had happened. Racing down a slope, she’d run into a high school linebacker. Her neck had snapped.

Sam didn’t have a chance to say good-bye.

It was the last Christmas he’d ever celebrated.

Charlie stood, gave Sam a hand up, and passed him a beer.

“Thanks, bro,” Sam said, “not just for the brew, but the question.” He leaned back in the chair and studied the table. “Living the way I have seemed like something I needed to do. Maybe I thought if I did it long enough, she’d come back.”

He wiped his eyes. No use bawling like a baby again.

“It doesn’t work that way,” Charlie said.

Sam shook his head. “I know that, but I haven’t been willing to give up my hair shirt.”

“What’s different now?”

A set of dark eyes framed by feathered eyelashes appeared in his mind. Could it be that simple? Was the desire to live again started by nothing more than an attractive woman?

“Lucy likes her.” Charlie grabbed another beer from the fridge.

Sam smiled. “Clara
is
enthusiastic—and very reluctant to accept ‘no’ for an answer.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t give it to her then.”

Sam leaned forward. “She told me the damndest thing.”

“What?” Charlie took another slug of his beer.

“Her dad died before Christmas.”

“It doesn’t seem to have stopped
her
enthusiasm for the holiday.”

Sam shook his head. “Nope. It hasn’t.”

Charlie stood up and placed his bottle in the recycle bin before he shrugged into his jacket.

“Don’t forget your wreath,” Sam said, as he got up from his chair.

“Lucy will skin me alive if I come back with that thing.” Charlie looked steadily at Sam. “Christmas is the season of light and hope, Sam. Why don’t you try letting a little of it into your own life for a change?”

Sam glanced at the wreath Charlie had laid next to a crumpled paper bag on the old work table at the far end of the kitchen.

“Maybe I will.”

****

Shortly before Christmas, Clara drove back to Roxbury. The woods and fields lining the road were heavier with snow than they’d been a few weeks before. Red barns and gray silos in the distance added to the season’s picturesque beauty.

The tires thrummed on the cleared pavement, and she sang along to the Christmas tunes coming from her sound system. The engine was blessedly quiet. This trip would be a financial and joyful success. She could feel it in her bones.

With Lucy’s help, she’d pulled together a website to promote the artisans she’d worked with around New Jersey. Most had been enthusiastic, and orders were already rolling in. Between that income and the culinary road trips, success seemed to be within her grasp.

She’d taken a gamble by planning the trip to upstate New York in the winter, but ten women had signed up within the first twenty-four hours, and five more were on a waiting list for the next trip she planned.

Brainstorming with Lucy had given her ways to tweak the trip and its aftermath to make the concept even more financially rewarding. After talking frequently by phone with her newfound friend over the past few weeks, Clara realized she really needed a partner.

A thrill of anticipation ran through Clara. Depending on how the weekend went, she’d approach Lucy on Sunday about becoming a partner in The Perfect Plate.

Only one dim light remained. Clara hadn’t heard from Sam. After she’d returned home from her visit to Roxbury, she’d emailed him an apology for overstepping her boundaries.

She’d received nothing but silence in return.

The inn was decorated for Christmas: light-entwined greenery looped on the picket fence, a huge wreath on the door and single electric candles in the mullioned windows. Her clients would be delighted.

Lucy greeted her with a warm hug. “It’s so good to see you again. Why don’t you settle in your room and then you can come downstairs?  I have tea, cookies, and a surprise for you.”

“A surprise? Can’t you tell me now?”

An impish grin played across Lucy’s face. “Nope. Scoot.”

Clara’s heart beat with excitement. She loved surprises, no matter how large or small.

She hung up her few things and trotted back down the stairs to the dining room. “What is it?”

Lucy laughed. “You’re a little kid, aren’t you?”