Love Finds You in Frost Minnesota (2 page)

Christmas had always been a lonely time for her. No siblings or cousins for whom to purchase gifts, no aunts or uncles to prepare for, and certainly no great anticipation about the presents under the tree. Her parents were practical people who gave her things like socks, school clothes, and money. Despite their pragmatic approach to life, she missed them terribly. When they’d died unexpectedly in a car accident, her only family left was a great-aunt. She pushed away the thought of the one thing that would make Christmas perfect—family, people to call her own.

Though she could never replace her parents, she had a lot of good friends, both male and female. There were an especially large number of male friends who’d like to be invited to her house for Christmas, but for some of them that was almost equivalent to a marriage proposal—and she was in no hurry to rush into a permanent institution with any of them. Already she’d decided to invite her lonely neighbor Hildy over for the holidays.

Only when nights got long and she ached to talk to someone other than her red-and-white border collie, Peppermint, and the butterscotch-colored cat she’d named Eggnog did she feel an emptiness in her life. She had specific, unbending requirements for a mate. Whomever she married would have to love Christmas as much as she. That was nonnegotiable. And, naturally, he would be a Christian.

She hummed as she took the cup from her visitor’s hand, refilled it, and handed it back to him. She picked up a plate of cookies. “Something to eat? Spritz cookies, pecan tartlets, and macaroons. There are also caramel peanut clusters, peppermint bark, birds’ nests, and divinity. My mother taught me how to make the divinity. It’s tricky, you know. I don’t like it when it’s soft and melts into those puddles. . . .” Merry hesitated when he didn’t respond. She was doing it again—rambling on about Christmas.

Her guest held up his hand as if to stop her. “What are you doing here?”

Merry studied him. He looked fine—more than fine, actually—but he was certainly behaving oddly.

“I told you. I live here.” She spoke slowly, as if to a misbehaving child. “This is my home. This is my store.”

“In Frost?”

The least he could do was look around and see the lovely selection of Christmas items on display, she thought impatiently. “Of course in Frost!” She narrowed her green eyes and set the pretty bow of her mouth in a moue. “Perhaps I should ask what
you
are doing here.” She hoped Abby would arrive soon. She was beginning to be uncomfortable with his odd behavior.

“I own Frost.”

Merry felt her eyes widen.

He saw her reaction and amended his statement. “I don’t own
all
of it, of course, just a
lot
of it.”

“What is your name?” Merry clutched the cell phone in her pocket, ready to dial for help.

“My name is Jonathan Frost. My great-grandfather was a cousin of the man after whom this town was named, Charles S. Frost, an architect from Chicago. Apparently he came to see the place that carried his family name, liked it, and settled here. I’m named after my great-grandfather, Jonathan, but my . . . someone in my family called me Jack, and it stuck.”

Jack Frost
had just walked into her store? This was too good to be true!

Merry hardly registered the part about the town’s founder. Jack Frost was here in Frost! She could have an autograph party and get him to sign the framed prints of the photos of morning hoarfrost on the windows that she’d taken last winter. Wouldn’t that be fun? She could serve White Christmas, her favorite coconut cake, and . . .

Wait a minute. Had he just said he
owned
the town of Frost?

“How could that be?” Merry couldn’t keep the skepticism out of her voice. “You own this town?”

“Bits and pieces, apparently. And a lot of land outside of town. My father passed away recently, and it wasn’t until the reading of his will that I discovered that Dad had inherited the property in Frost. It’s been in the family for four generations.”

Merry tried to digest this bit of information.

“Dad rarely mentioned his great-grandfather, who was gone long before I was born.” The young Mr. Frost tugged absently at his ear. “I assume that when the property came to Dad, whoever was taking care of things concerning Frost was dead and gone.”

Merry thought of the way she pulled together her own income piecemeal. If Mr. Frost’s family could overlook profits and returns like that, they must be very well to do.

Mr. Frost had the grace to look a bit sheepish. “Our family has always had plenty of money. I’m sure it wasn’t a big deal to him.”

Merry edged her way to the dining room table, set with Spode Christmas china, red napkins, poinsettias, and green placemats. Red-and-white peppermints graced the tabletop, and large teddy bears sat in three of the chairs as if waiting for lunch.

She gestured for Jack to sit down, got more cider for both of them, and put the cookies on the table between them. “So this was all news to you? I thought you said you’d been to Frost before.”

“It was a long time ago. One of my grandfather’s sisters actually lived in this very house.”

“And now it’s mine.”

“Obviously.” His expression grew distant, as if he were in another place and time. “When we visited, I used to crawl through the little door in my aunt’s closet that leads to the attic. There were old toys up there, clothes, hats, even a dressmaker’s dummy and a civil war uniform. It was rather magical for a little kid.”

“It’s all still there,” Merry said softly. “I didn’t have the heart to get rid of it. It felt as though I’d be taking the heart out of the house if I disposed of those things.”

He looked surprised, a pleasant change from the perpetual frown he’d been wearing.

“You can look through the attic if you want.”

The offer obviously startled him. “It’s yours now.”

“It belongs to the house. You’re part of the house’s history. It’s okay with me.”

She saw his posture soften, then stiffen again, as if he’d been tempted by her offer and then changed his mind. He drummed his fingers on the peppermint-themed tabletop.

“Thank you, but I think there are more important things to do while I’m here, like sort out the mess my father left me.”

“How long do you plan to be here?”

“As long as it takes.”

“To do what?”

“To interview the people who worked the property, to see exactly how much of this town and the land around it I actually own. And, if I’m lucky, to get this ridiculous bogus Christmas spectacle pruned down to size. I hate the gimmicky thing the holiday has become.” Then he seemed to realize what he’d said and how it must have sounded to Merry.

She felt as though she might have to pick up her jaw off the plate in front of her.

Jack Frost wanted to shut down Christmas!

* * * * *

He might as well have landed in Oz or Alice’s Wonderland, Jack thought. Apparently the eccentric nature of this entire trip was just beginning. He’d thought it bad enough when he stopped at the county courthouse and discovered that nothing was as clear-cut about the property he’d inherited as he hoped it would be. And now this.

The little town he recalled from his childhood had been turned into a Christmas cash cow, and it turned his stomach. He had little tolerance for any Christmas celebrations other than church, and this was beyond garish. It reminded him of New York when the giant tree was lit in Rockefeller Center, and the skaters looked like toys gliding on a mirror.

She was staring at him, he realized, with something that bordered on alarm. He could hardly blame her. Christmas and its memories always had this effect on him. But enough about that. He shook himself free of his thoughts. He needed to get back to Blue Earth.

“I’d better go,” he said awkwardly. “Thanks . . .”

He backed out the door, closed it softly to prevent the musical riot from starting again, and escaped to the refuge of his rented BMW.

Against his better judgment, Jack took the turn that led him to the center of town.

Elves were everywhere, peeking over stumps, out of trees, and from behind snow banks.

He hoped he woke up from this nightmare soon.

Chapter Two

• • • • • • • • • • • •

Merry, preoccupied, was still staring at the front door when Abby entered.

“Hey, kiddo! What’s up?” Abby bounced in with the enthusiasm that usually matched Merry’s own, pulled off her stocking cap, and revealed a pixie haircut filled with static electricity. She had light brown hair, gray eyes, and a big smile that revealed a slight overlap in her two front teeth.

“I thought we could unpack more decorations and set up an extra tree in the kitchen. I found some incredible new ribbon when I was in Minneapolis. Wait till you see it. I—Merry, what’s wrong?” Abby stopped chattering and peered at her friend. “Are you okay? You’re pale as a sheet!”

“I’ve just seen a ghost,” Merry whispered. “The really bad spirit in
A Christmas Carol.
I saw Christmas Future.”

“There are no ghosts, Merry, you know that.”

“Then this one was a living, breathing nightmare. He wants to cancel Christmas!”

It took some prodding on Abby’s part to get the entire story out of Merry—Jack Frost’s arrival, his ownership of much of Frost, his dismay at its holiday flavor, and his suggestion they needed to tone things down in the Christmas decoration department. She left out the words he’d used to describe his thoughts.
Ridiculous. Gimmicky.

“Why does he care?” Abby demanded. “It doesn’t have anything to do with him. He hasn’t been here since he was a child, and now he breezes in and wants to change things?”

“He didn’t discover that his father had inherited property here until the man’s will was read,” Merry said. “Now that it’s come to him, I suppose he thinks he’s responsible and needs to do something about it.”

“Leave it alone, that’s what I say,” Abby said, scowling. “We’ve been just fine until now. Why fix what’s not broken? Until you started this store and the rest of the town picked up on this Christmas village theme, it was just like all the other little towns around here. You are the one who helped Frost! Because of your advertisements, people come from miles and miles around to do their Christmas shopping.

“You’re practically an industry around here! What about the man who carves wooden Nativity sets or the ladies who knit kitchen dishcloths to sell at the boutique?” Abby crossed her arms over her chest and scowled. “How
dare
he breeze in here and ruin things for us?”

“I don’t know if he’s going to ruin things,” Merry said weakly. “What he actually said was that he was going to get ‘this bogus Christmas spectacle pruned down to size.’”

“Like that’s not ruining things? Oh, please! What are you going to do about it, Merry?”

“Me? Why am I the one to do something?”

“Because you’re the one who brought the fun of Christmas back to Frost. You believe that we should never forget it is Christ’s birthday, but you want us to celebrate with that in mind. I’ve heard you say it a million times. ‘There’s much more joy in the season when you know its Reason.’ You’ve got your head on straight about Christmas, Merry. If he actually tries to change things, you have to confront him.”

“Maybe I have gone overboard, Abby. It could be a hang-up with me. I have the Christmas crazies.”

“You felt you were missing something special, and you created a way to provide it for yourself and others. There’s nothing wrong with that.”

Merry nodded but didn’t say more. She would have to run this by her neighbor. Hildy, an original resident of Frost, had moved here from Minneapolis to live out her days in the home she’d grown up in. She usually had wise and sensible advice when Merry asked for it. She needed someone clearheaded to help her sort it out. Then customers began to arrive and swept every other thought from Merry’s mind.

After Abby had left for the evening, Merry put the
Closed
sign on the door and meandered to the bookcase. She pulled out the photo album in which she’d recorded the birth and growth of Merry’s Christmas Boutique.

The house had been a mess when she got it, and she’d sometimes regretted selling her parents’ home in Minneapolis. Snapshots of ragged holes in the walls revealed ancient lath and plaster. The plumbing was a tangle of rusting pipes, and the un-caulked windows let heat from the inefficient old furnace escape into the out of doors. The beautiful hardwood floors had been nicked and stained with ancient and disgusting spills. There were birds’ nests in one of the bedrooms and signs of a raccoon in the basement. It had been backbreaking work, but Merry, with a lot of local help, had turned the place into a point of pride for Frost.

Now this house was not only her home but also her business and her refuge. She knew it would have been nearly impossible to build a Christmas boutique in the Twin Cities of Minneapolis and St. Paul with the savings she had. It didn’t sit well with her that Mr. Jack Whoever-He-Was Frost had arrived on her doorstep determined to change the things she loved.

Stomach churning with anxiety, Merry put down the album and picked up her Bible. It opened to Hebrews, and she knew immediately the verse she needed to read. It was in the thirteenth chapter, second verse. “
Do not neglect to show hospitality to strangers, for thereby some have entertained angels unawares.”

Jack Frost, an angel? She couldn’t picture it. Neither was she willing to ignore God’s Word. Sometimes it was just harder to obey than other times.

With a fresh cup of green tea by her side, Merry opened another book from her shelf, a book on the myths and legends surrounding Christmas.

Jack Frost: an exemplification of cold and frost, a variation on Old Man Winter. He is the one supposedly responsible for the color changes in autumn foliage, cold fingers and toes, and the fern frost designs on windowpanes in winter. Jack Frost is often portrayed as a disturbing mischief-maker.

That was a pretty good description of the Jack Frost she’d met this afternoon—a troublemaker. Sighing, she got up to stoke the fire.