Love Finds You in Frost Minnesota (17 page)

“Where did that come from? We hardly know each other.” Jack squirmed uncomfortably.

“She probably knows you better than ninety percent of the people who
think
they know you. It’s time you let your guard down.”

Jack laughed humorlessly. “Right. ‘Oh, by the way, Merry. Thanks for putting me up at your B-and-B—and will you marry me?’”

“You could be a little smoother than that.”

Vince was actually serious, Jack realized. He needed to change the subject, quickly.

“What we need to talk about right now is the mess at the courthouse. There was a trust set up through which the taxes were paid and no one questioned it. It had always been done that way and no one researched it further. Far as I can figure out, something was recorded incorrectly at the courthouse at that time. The proof is there that the land was never sold to them, but for all intents and purposes, they consider it theirs.”

Vince shook his head somberly. “I’ll look it over and run it by another attorney to make sure we have it sorted out before we say anything to anyone.”

Jack closed his eyes and groaned.

“I’ll take care of everything. You’ve done all the leg-work. Your job is to get stronger now. Frankly, anything you try to do, I’ll consider interference.”

Jack was surprised that all he felt was relief.

“I’d also suggest you take my advice about Merry. She’s awesome—businesswoman, entrepreneur, cook, teacher, and nurse. You don’t run into that combination often. And she’d be good for you. She chooses joy while you are stuck in the sad history of your family. Merry’s the best medicine for you. Don’t think I don’t see it, Jack.”

“You need glasses,” Jack muttered. Suddenly he was very, very tired.

After Vince left it was only moments before Jack fell asleep.
He was there, at the precipice, his hands on Jamie’s shoulders as he sat on the sled. They were laughing.

“Push me, Jack, push!”

“It looks pretty high, Jamie. If Mom knew . . .”

“But she doesn’t. Come on, Jack. You’re always so serious. You don’t know how to have fun.”

“Do too.” Jack felt a chill creep up his legs. The sun was bright but cold.

“Do not.”

“Do too.” But he said it doubtfully. Jamie was right. He wasn’t the fun twin. He was the scholar—Jamie, the party. He drew a deep breath, and the icy air burned his lungs.

“Push!” Jamie yelled.

Jamie thought he was a coward. That was even worse than the scolding they were bound to get from their mother. Jack pushed.

Then Jamie lay crumpled at the bottom of the hill.

“Wake up! Wake up!” Merry’s voice distracted him from the scene at the bottom of the hill. He swam slowly out of the nightmare, and Merry’s concerned features came into focus. “It’s okay. You were dreaming. I could hear you from down the hall.”

Jack shuddered.

With a soothing hand, Merry stroked his forehead and made comforting, wordless sounds. He was sorry when she stopped.

“That must have been one horrible dream.” Her pretty features were wrinkled with concern.

“Nothing I haven’t had before.” Jack struggled to sit up and took the glass of water she offered. “It’s very infrequent now, not like when I was a kid.”

“About your brother?”

“Yes. That day—it’s all crystal clear and exactly as it happened.”

“I’m so sorry.” She put her hand over his. Her fingers were warm, strong, and comforting.

“No big deal.” It was a big deal, of course, but he was glad she began to play the denial game with him.

“I came up to get those pictures you painted,” she said cheerfully. “I need to put them in the shop.”

“You were kidding about all that, right?”

“Not in the least.” She picked up what she’d come for, smiled a heartbreakingly tender smile, and walked out of the room, leaving Jack more bemused than ever.

* * * * *

Merry carried Jack’s paintings downstairs to the kitchen. Then she stole into the store and gathered up frames that might work with the scenes. She didn’t tell Abby or Hildy, who’d come over to help wrap gift items, what she was doing.

She had just finished framing the last one when Abby entered the kitchen.

“I’m taking a quick break. It’s quiet right now and Hildy’s at the till.” Abby plopped onto a stool. “My feet are killing me.” She glanced at the table and the framed art spread across it. “What’s this?”

“Something new for the store. Do you like it?”

Abby picked up one of the smaller pieces. “Gorgeous. It’s as though you can look through the glass and see what’s behind the frost.” She squinted. “Look here. There’s even glitter on the frost to reflect light. Someone with a lot of attention to detail did this.”

Merry hadn’t even noticed the sparkle before, but she did know there was a tube of silver glitter in her paint box. Jack hadn’t missed a thing.

“That’s cute.” Abby giggled. “It’s signed ‘Jack Frost.’ Fitting, I suppose, but why wouldn’t the artist want his or her own name on something this beautiful?”

“It’s a man who painted them, actually.” Merry poured coffee for them and sat down at the table. “And his name
is
Jack Frost.”

Abby’s eyes grew wide, and she pointed her index finger to the ceiling. “That Jack Frost? The one upstairs? I didn’t know he could paint!”

“Apparently he didn’t either. I gave him my paint box to keep him busy and out of trouble, and he did these. Aren’t they amazing?”

“You’re going to sell them?” Abby couldn’t draw her gaze away from the table.

“I thought I’d try. He thinks it’s all crazy, but he obviously has no idea how good these are.”

Abby jumped to her feet. “There’s a lady in the store right now who might be interested. She said she wanted to give everyone in her family a piece of art this year. I’ve got to show her these!”

That left Merry at the table alone with her thoughts.

What was it about Jack that appealed to her so? Granted, he was rich, good-looking, and, when he wanted to be, charming. He could also be irascible, testy, and stubborn.

She leaned back in the chair and thought of him during those days at the hospital when he was vulnerable, his emotions exposed. The pain of his brother’s accidental death had never left him, and he’d carried the heavy load so long. Merry wished she could carry some of that ache for him.

She sat up straight. The thought shocked her. Never before had she felt that way about someone. She was always willing to help, to champion, to comfort, but it wasn’t in her nature to want to be so sacrificial—until now. Until Jack.

* * * * *

Hildy left early saying something about rising bread dough, but at closing time, Abby approached Merry with sparkling eyes. “You’ll never believe it, Merry!”

Merry looked up absently. She’d been restocking shelves, visiting with customers, and trying to process her feelings for Jack. Now the customers were gone and the shelves stocked, but she was more confused than ever about her emotions. It had set her back on her heels, in fact.

Abby thrust out her hands. She was holding a large wad of bills. “This is what we made on Jack’s paintings!”

“There has to be at least nine hundred dollars there . . . surely not . . .”

“People loved them. The smaller ones went first, but they were still asking for them after we ran out. I sold a couple of the bigger ones too.”

“How did you know what to charge?”

“The first lady who came to the counter with one of the larger ones said she’d seen something like it at a gallery that was priced at three hundred dollars, so I said they were two hundred. She didn’t even blink. In fact, she said she wanted to know more about the artist. Her husband is an art teacher at a high school, and they collect new artists’ work.”

Abby grinned at Merry’s stunned expression. “So you’ll have to get Jack to write up a little bio about himself and his experience that we can hand out with each piece that’s purchased.”

Merry’s mouth worked but nothing came out. Surely this entire day was a dream, and she’d wake soon.

Then Vince loped downstairs while Jack followed him at a more sedate pace.

“Are they gone? The customers, I mean. Is it safe to come out?” Jack asked.

Merry nodded numbly, and Abby giggled. “I can’t wait to hear how he reacts when you tell him. Gotta go now, though. Hubby said he’d take me out for dinner tonight.”

“Tell me what?” Jack’s gaze caught Merry’s.

“What are you doing out of bed?”

“I’m not a child, Merry! I’m a grown man and if I feel like being here . . .” Jack swayed a little. “Right now I feel like sitting down.”

“Take him in the kitchen, Vince,” Merry suggested. “I’ve got pork chops in the oven. Maybe he’ll be less dizzy with some food in his stomach.”

“I hate it when you’re right,” Jack muttered to her.

She grinned and patted his arm. “Just wait till you hear what I was right about now.”

She wouldn’t tell the pair anything until she’d set the table, dished up the food, and said grace.

“Now will you tell me?” Jack demanded. “I’ve been ill. It’s not healthy to keep me in suspense.”

“Now you admit you’ve been sick? It’s certainly taken you a long time!”

Vince grinned but said nothing. It was obvious he enjoyed the repartee.

“Those watercolors you did today?”

“What about them? You can just toss the bunch. I was trying to paint what I saw in my head, but they didn’t come out quite like I wanted them to.” Jack dug into a bowl of squash and grabbed the bit with a hunk of butter melting on top.

“After I framed them, Abby sold some of them. We made nine hundred dollars.”

Jack’s fork clattered to the table and Vince’s jaw dropped in amazement.

“Nine hundred? For what?” Jack finally managed.

“For some lovely pictures of winter scenes.” Merry watched him with amusement. Dumbfounded was the best way to describe him at the moment.

“But I just looked out the window and painted what I saw.”

“You have amazing natural ability, Jack. Don’t you know that?”

“How would I know? The last time I remember painting or drawing was in grade school. Before . . .” He closed his eyes for a moment and opened them again. “My brother, Jamie, was the one with the artistic talent. My parents were always raving about the things he drew. Far be it from me to rain on his parade, I guess. I was always better with numbers, so we each had our own skills.”

“Good. I’m glad you’re good at numbers.” She reached into her pocket and pulled out a wad of money. “I’ll tell you the cost of the frames I added, take ten percent commission, and the rest is yours.”

Vince chuckled. “It sounds like you are well acquainted with math yourself. If I were you, I’d ask for at least twenty percent commission. After all, without you, this talent would have remained hidden forever.”

Jack was still staring at the pile of bills. “This is crazy. You take the money, Merry.”

“I certainly will not! I don’t do business that way. Besides, now you’ll have to paint more pictures for me. Do the smaller ones this time. I’m sure I can sell them all.”

“What have I gotten myself into now?” Jack asked Vince.

“You’ve gotten yourself into very good hands, my friend, and also a new career. Tonight you can brief me on what you’ve been doing so far, and I’ll take over from here. You don’t look very well, for one thing, and for another, the demand for your paintings is obviously high and you need to strike when the iron is hot.” He turned to Merry. “Don’t you think so?”

“Absolutely.” Merry was relieved that Vince would take some of the burden off Jack, who was not nearly as strong as he insisted he was.

“But you can’t work tonight until after the Parade of Lights. I think we’re going to have our best participation ever.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “Which reminds me, I’d better get going. I’m supposed to help the entries line up. You can watch from the front window. Just turn the rest of the lights off in the house so you can really see the parade well.”

“I don’t want to . . .” Jack began.

Vince lightly punched his shoulder. “But I do. You’re going to watch this if I have to tie you up to get you to do it. I’m in Frost and I’m determined to enjoy it.”

“Traitor,” Jack muttered. “I thought you came here to help me.”

“I did,” Vince assured him. “Believe me, I did.”

* * * * *

A hodgepodge of people and their parade entries greeted her at the edge of town.

Merry pulled a sheet of paper out of her pocket and walked up to a John Deere tractor outlined in small white lights. The driver was dressed in a Santa costume, but Merry still recognized him. “Hi, Doug, you are entry number three. Line up over there and leave room for two other tractors ahead of you.”

Next sat a plow with a snow scoop full of elves. “Number four. Behind Doug,” Merry called out.

A group of tiny carolers waited in a clump. “You kids will be last—except for the horses, of course—we don’t want you stepping in anything . . .” Her voice trailed off. “So get ahead of the miniature horse and Jeff and his Percherons. He’ll go slow or stop if you get behind.”

And so it went until Merry had given everyone their position in line.

“Okay, folks, it’s time to start. We’ll go up and down every street in town. People are lined up on the street and in their cars. First entry can go. Everyone follow at a suitable pace. You know the rules. There will be cider and treats at the community center after and music by Frost’s very own musical group, The Frosties.”

Her job was done. Nearly everyone in the parade had done this before and it was old hat to them. She walked along the entries smiling at the pickup truck decorated to look like a gingerbread house and the “Santa car” that resembled a sleigh.

“Hey, Merry. Looking for a ride?”

Jeff had his favorite sleigh out tonight, the one he used on special occasions. It was just right for two people. Merry imagined the original owners of this vehicle wrapped in warm furs and blankets, heating their feet with bricks wrapped in rags at the bottom of the sleigh.