Love Finds You in North Pole, Alaska (5 page)

“Because as the youngest of eight kids—and the only girl—they think I need protecting, like I’m some sort of empty-headed little weakling who’s made of spun glass.”

Were her brothers just being guys? he wondered. Or had her behavior inspired their attitude? Obviously, they’d never lifted that suitcase she called a purse.

Sam ran her fingertips along a shelf edge and then pulled a tissue from her jacket pocket and wiped dust from her fingertips. She looked around the room, nodding and muttering “Mmmhmm” and “Ah” as her gaze traveled the wall-to-wall, floor-to-ceiling shelves. “Soon as I get the lay of the land around here, I’ll get busy on this place. Whipping it into shape shouldn’t be all that different from organizing a professional kitchen.” And then, as if on cue, her stomach growled.

“Sorry,” she said, grinning as she patted it, “but I didn’t make time for breakfast this morning.”

Bryce was about to point out she’d skipped the most important meal of the day when she gave him a quick once-over, starting with his well-buffed loafers and ending at the collar of his polo shirt. He braced himself for the “poor baby” comment that would surely follow when those blue eyes of hers made their way to his patch.

“And here I thought
I
was the only person in America who ironed creases into her jeans. Better keep your distance, boss,” she teased, “’cause those pants of yours are sharp enough to draw blood!”

Chuckling, he leaned on the doorjamb as she continued her inspection. No doubt he’d rack up his share of frustration teaching her the ropes. Might even feel annoyance from time to time. But something told him that the one thing he
wouldn’t
feel while working with Samantha Sinclair was boredom.

After three hours of tossing and turning, Sam gave up trying to put her handsome boss out of her mind. Climbing out of bed, she wrapped herself in a thick pink robe and flicked on the lamp behind her driver’s seat. Plopping down at the tiny table, she tried to read her Bible. But not even her usual favorites from scripture could keep her from thinking about Bryce Stone.

All during his tour of Rudolph’s, she’d hoped he would explain why he wore the mysterious black patch over his left eye. His stance, close-cropped haircut, and occasional use of military terms told her he’d probably been a soldier. Plus, he reminded her of her youngest brother, who’d served a long harrowing year in Iraq. Bill hated talking about his time over there, unless, of course,
he
brought it up. So Sam hadn’t asked Bryce about the patch or the angry scar visible beneath it.

It hadn’t been easy, as he described North Pole’s weather and explained how daylight lasted twenty-one hours a day this time of year, to tamp down an overwhelming desire to comfort him…though she didn’t know from
what
. Bryce’s demeanor hinted at a past fraught with physical and emotional pain, and despite his polite smile, no joy glittered in his beautiful brown eye.

Was it her fault that something in her DNA made her want to
fix
things for people? Maybe she’d have been better off taking her mother’s advice to study nursing or become some sort of therapist. “Put all that empathy of yours to good and sensible use!” her dad had tacked on.

Suddenly, a weird thought crossed her mind, and it got her heart to beating double-time….

What if Bryce hadn’t been a soldier after all? What if he’d earned that stiff-backed posture
in jail
? She’d seen more than enough old black-and-white movies to know that marching around the exercise yard for hours on end wasn’t just a way for wardens and guards to keep control of wayward convicts. It was also how the cons built iron-strong muscles to defend themselves…from one another. So what if the injury had been the result of a prison yard battle?

Sam jumped up and checked the RV’s front and rear doors. Assured that both were securely locked, she returned to the table where her Bible lay open to the book of Psalms. Catching sight of her worried expression in the reflection of the window, she laughed out loud. Because really, what crime could a man like that have committed to earn a prison sentence? Besides, his aunt seemed like a really sweet woman. Surely she wouldn’t have exposed Sam to danger, even to protect her nephew.

Right?

“Oh, grow up, Sam,” she scolded herself. And yawning, she stretched and thanked the Lord for the sleepy feeling that finally began to settle over her. Lights out, she padded back to her narrow bedroom and climbed under the covers, smiling as she pictured the town. From the thatched roof of the log cabin Welcome Center to streets with names like Mistletoe Drive, Snowman Lane, and Kris Kringle Turnaround, there didn’t seem to be a single drawback to living in North Pole, Alaska!

So why, she wondered as drowsiness deepened and the image of Bryce Stone floated in her mind, did it seem that her new boss didn’t like his hometown?

Of all the days to oversleep, why
this
one? Sam wondered, rushing through her morning routine. The only upside to forgetting to set her alarm was that in her rush to meet Bryce at the shop at eight sharp, she’d all but forgotten why she’d had to take the job in the first place. Besides, it was impossible to dwell on negative stuff when at every turn, she was faced with colorful decorations reminiscent of Baltimore’s 33rd Street Christmas display. Candy canes, elves and reindeer, Santas and Mrs. Clauses adorned just about every free space in town, and the pleasant expressions of shopkeepers were matched only by the bright faces of tourists.

Wearing khaki pants and a long-sleeved white shirt, she scrunched her hair into a high ponytail and laced up her sneakers before setting out on the four-block walk from the hotel parking lot to Snowman Lane. In no time, she found herself at Rudolph’s Christmas Emporium.

Her joy at the prospect of working here was dampened by thoughts of what her father would think about her new job. “So let me get this straight,” he’d no doubt say, “I helped fund your degree in culinary arts so you could work
in a Christmas gift shop
?” She looked up at the huge reindeer overhead and grinned. “It’s okay, Rudolph. Dad doesn’t mean any disrespect.”

“Are you planning to stand out here and talk to that big ugly deer all day?”

She’d have recognized that voice anywhere. “Have you ever thought of becoming a DJ?” she asked, grabbing the silver handle on the big green door and looking over her shoulder to where Bryce stood on the sidewalk behind her.

“A DJ?” His brow furrowed. “No. Why would I?”

With a voice like that? Was he
kidding
? Shrugging, Sam marched into the shop. “Or you might consider a career in espionage,” she said, stepping into the shop, “since you seem to have a talent for sneaking up on—”

“Sam!” Olive hollered. “You look even prettier today than you did yesterday.”

Sam would have thanked Olive for the compliment but found herself smothered in an enormous motherly hug instead.

“I can’t tell you what a pleasure it’s gonna be, having somebody to talk to while I work!” Grabbing Sam’s hand, Olive led the way to the counter and relieved her of the big purse. “My goodness, how does a tiny thing like you lug this big satchel around all day?”

“Careful planning,” Sam said with a giggle. “It helps that I only need to lug it short distances.”

Olive’s merry laughter led the way into the storeroom, where she stowed Sam’s purse on a shelf behind the door. “We have virtually no crime here in North Pole,” she said in a loud whisper, “but I see no point in leaving temptation out in plain sight.” Then she clapped her hands. “So, what has that nephew of mine told you about me?”

“Only that you’ve run Rudolph’s single-handedly for the past five years.”

“Accent on
single-handedly
.” And narrowing eyes the same shade of brown as Bryce’s, Olive jerked her head in his direction. “Even when he’s here, he isn’t. Doesn’t like being cooped up inside, doesn’t like handling what he calls ‘dainty little knickknacks,’ doesn’t like—” Olive stopped talking long enough to aim a phonily stern expression in Bryce’s direction. “Why are you still here?” she teased.

One broad shoulder lifted in a slight shrug. “Guess I thought I could mind the register while you show Sam here what’s what.”

“I think we can handle both.” She gave Bryce a gentle shove toward the door. “This place ain’t big enough for the three of us, so why don’t you see about cleaning up that nasty garage.” To Sam, she said, “He’s been threatening to turn it into a woodworking shop for years.” Eyes on her nephew again, she added, “You’re gonna need something to put food in your belly once this place sells.”

Once it sells?
Sam thought, gasping audibly as Olive gave Bryce another nudge that put him on the sidewalk. “Come back at noon,” she said as he grinned and backpedaled toward the curb, “and maybe we’ll let you buy us lunch at The Coffee Cart.” After flipping the C
LOSED
sign to O
PEN
, she faced Sam. “I take it he didn’t tell you the job is short-term.”

It was all Sam could do to squeak a quiet “no” past her lips. The hotel was out of the question—unless they had an opening for a maid—and now this news? She’d promised to call home tonight. What would she tell her family? “Just
how
short-term?”

Olive waved the question away. “Don’t you worry your pretty head about it, Sammie-girl. Bryce
thinks
he’s gonna sell this place, but no way that’s gonna happen. He
can’t
sell it, not only because it’s the only tie he has to his mom and dad, but because the real estate market just plain stinks right now. And we won’t even begin to list the mountain of bills my brother and his addle-brained wife saddled the poor boy with.” She winked. “You’ll see. In no time, he’ll come to his senses and stop pretending he wants to put a ‘For Sale’ sign in the window.”

If Sam could believe that, maybe the lump in her throat would dissolve. “How can you be so sure?”

“Honey, that boy’s the closest thing to a son this ol’ gal will ever have. My brother and sister-in-law were nothing but a couple of silly hippies, I don’t mind telling you. Always on the lookout for the next get-rich-quick scheme. No wonder they died poor as church mice.” Olive cocked her head and grinned. “Church mice, indeed,” she echoed. “One of these days, I’m going to look up that phrase and find out what it
really
means.” Dusting chubby hands together, Olive said, “Follow me, sweetie.” And with that, she led the way into the back room again.

Oh, Lord,
Sam prayed,
please don’t let this be a temporary assignment
. Or else her brothers would never let her live it down!

“Samantha Sinclair, I want you to stop looking so worried,” Olive said, shaking a finger under Sam’s nose. “You’re as safe as a baby in her mama’s arms.”

Sam shot Olive a half grin. “Baby, eh? Maybe that’s why I feel like crying.”

“Bryce doesn’t know it yet, but you’re the one who’s going to teach him that he loves North Pole and that he doesn’t hate Christmas, either.”

“What! Hate Christmas? How can anyone hate Christmas? It’s my all-time favorite holiday!”

“Newsflash,” Olive said. “He doesn’t like chocolate, either.”

“Good grief. Are you sure he’s
human
?”

Laughing, Olive explained how everything was falling into place just in time for her trip.

“By the way, I haven’t told that jarhead nephew of mine the
real
reason I’m leaving town.

“Jarhead? So I was right,” Sam said, mostly to herself. “I
thought
he had a soldier look about him….”

Olive’s pride was evident when she said, “Nearly ten years of ‘soldiering,’ I’ll have you know.”

“What happened to his eye?”

“One of his men stepped on a land mine, and Bryce put himself between it and the other guys.”

Sam gasped again as the image of a fiery explosion flashed in her mind. “Oh, my. How awful for him.”

“He saved nearly twenty men, but all he remembers is the one he
couldn’t
save.” Shaking her head, Olive sighed. “Shrapnel carved up his face but good and left him blind in that eye.”

“Poor guy. I feel so bad for him.”