A Boulder Creek Christmas (3 page)

“Because my version is fact and it
did
happen. And, for the record, I'm not harboring a grudge. I'm simply exercising…sagacious caution.”

“Sagacious…all this because I kissed you?”

The crimson wash across Lani's cheeks told Ryan he'd struck a nerve, and he wished immediately that he could take back the words.

“It wasn't just a kiss, Ryan.” She took a step back from the chair, drew a long, laborious breath. “And, for the record, you didn't kiss me.
I
kissed
you
.”

“Yes, you did.”

“Go ahead…rub it in.”

Were those tears in Lani's eyes? Oh, brother, he'd made a mess of things now. Ryan swallowed hard. “Hold up a minute, Lani. Let me explain myself.”

“There's no need. Your actions that followed were explanation enough. I was about as much of a fool as a person can possibly be.”

Moisture turned her luminous green eyes to glistening jewels.

“No you weren't, and I said wait a minute.” Ryan nudged her hand away and pushed himself from the chair to stand and face her. He lowered his voice. It would do no good to force the issue. He needed her cooperation here. “Please listen to me.”

“The answer is no.” Lani wiped her hands on a towel and then lobbed it at him, smacking him squarely in his well-groomed face—well, halfway groomed. His reflection in the mirror proved that one cheek and jaw still showcased the telltale five o'clock shadow. “I told you I can't go tonight. I don't
want
to go with you. So, save your breath for the auction block. I'm sure there'll be a plethora of willing bidders vying for your undivided attention, handyman skills…and more.”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

“Forget it, Ryan. The haircut's on the house, but you'll have to finish the shave yourself.”

Lani spun on her heel and strode away, back toward the storage room, but even without a glimpse of her face, Ryan could imagine the expression tattooed there, judging from the tears that strangled her voice.

“Don't let the door hit you on the way out.”

3

The sharp crack of a hammer greeted Alani as she turned her Honda into the driveway of her small frame house the next afternoon. At the top of the drive, blocking the single-car garage, sat a black, mud-splattered pick-up truck that looked familiar.

Too familiar.

Alani pressed the Honda's brake, threw the car into PARK, and opened the driver's-side door with a single breath. She stomped over snow-laden gravel and turned the corner toward the staccato burst at the rear of the house.

“Ryan, what are you doing here?”

“What does it look like I'm doing?” Sawdust danced in a halo around his head as he glanced up from the redwood deck without missing a stroke of the hammer. Expertly, he jostled a new panel of wood into place as he flashed a mischievous grin. “I'll give you two guesses and the first one doesn't count.”

“I only need one.” Alani crossed her arms and sighed with dismay as she watched sweet-natured Moe, the chocolate lab she and Grandma Cora had rescued from the animal shelter nearly a decade ago, lope over to Ryan and curl contentedly at his side. So much for loyalty…the mangy beast must have forgotten that Ryan had dumped him, along with Lani when the going got tough. “You're trespassing on my property—and, it appears that you've also managed to brainwash my dog into thinking you're a friend.”

“I
am
a friend…you just haven't allowed the thought to sink into that stubborn head of yours.”

“That sort of sweet talk will get you places—
not
.” Alani adjusted the strap of her purse over one shoulder, fishing inside it for her cellphone. “So explain yourself, and quick, before I call the law.” She located the phone and waggled it in front of Ryan's face to add leverage to the threat.

“Really?” Ryan's laughter rent the air. He set down the hammer and sat back on his haunches while he shook sawdust from his hair. The scent mingled with pine that danced from a grove of trees flanking the eastern end of the lot. Moe inched closer to him and settled his chin on Ryan's thigh. “You wouldn't.”

Lani crossed her arms over her chest and lifted her chin. “I would.”

“You forget that the chief of police is my dad.” Ryan splayed a hand across Moe's head and gave him a good scratch between the ears, eliciting a delighted yawn from the traitorous beast.

“Oh…right.” Lani sighed with frustration. “Well, I'll call anyway and he'll…he'll…come out here and ground you.”

“Ground me?” Ryan's laughter grew. Now the infuriating sound echoed from the surrounding houses. “Are we fourteen again?”

“You're acting like it.”

“Me?
I'm
acting like I'm fourteen?” Ryan grabbed the porch rail, giving himself a boost to stand and face her. Moe followed at his heels, as if he and Ryan had been lifelong buddies. “Look here, Alani O'Dwyer…that hotheaded Irish temper is getting the best of you again. If you would just close that pretty little mouth of yours long enough to listen…” He kept coming until he had her penned in, her back pressed against the sliding glass door facing into the kitchen. The gleam in his eyes caused the hair on the back of her neck to tickle as his aftershave—something crisp and clean as the cool air—washed over her. “Maybe I should help you with that.”

“I think not.”

“We'll see…” He leaned in, dipping his head as if to kiss her, then seemed to think better of it and pulled back, turning away to pace the length of decking. Of course, Moe matched him step for step.

“What are you doing here?” Alani repeated, frowning at the dog as he marched loyally along at Ryan's side. She uncrossed her arms and tucked the phone back into her purse. “Explain yourself.”

“You ought to know.” Ryan swung around to face her, quickly striding back in her direction. “It was your bid that won my handyman services.”

“My bid?” Lani shook her head. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Last night…at the auction. You won me.”

“I…won you?” Her pulse skittered against her ribs at the thought. “Ryan, I wasn't even
at
the auction. How could I have
won
you?”

“You tell me.”

“I can't tell you anything because it wasn't me, Ryan. I have no idea what you're talking about. I was just at the salon, styling hair for some of my regulars from the senior center like I do every other Saturday morning, and I stopped by the fire hall on my way to drop off my donation at the business office. I didn't offer anything at the auction last night…not a cent, and especially not in your name.”

“Ouch.” Ryan scrubbed his jaw while Moe yowled as if the comment had stung him, as well. “Then it's a mystery. The bid came in marked anonymous, though a note attached directed me to come here, and I just assumed…”

“Well, you assumed wrong and you don't owe me anything. So you can leave now, Ryan. As a matter of fact, I highly suggest you do just that.”

“No.”

“What?”

“You heard me…I said, no. I'm not leaving. I made a commitment to honor the bid—no matter who pledged it, the memo indicated I work for you—and I'm going to do just that. So, let's see.” He reached into the pocket of his flannel shirt and retrieved a slip of paper. “I swung by earlier today to take some notes—”

“You came here while I was working at Styles and Smiles?”

“Bingo…and I jotted down a few notes and ran for supplies to get started.” He fished a nubby pencil from the pocket of his jeans. “Warped decking boards…check. Broken garage window…check. Next is the mailbox. It's fallen over and I think I may have seen a robin's nest coiled in there.”

“Oh…my…goodness…” Alani stomped one foot squarely on the snow-dusted ground. “You are—”

“Impossible?” He tucked the slip of paper back into his pocket and grabbed his hammer before turning away. “Ditto, Lani. Now, I've got work to do, so go inside before you catch your death of cold in that T-shirt and jeans. Where's your jacket anyway?”

“At the salon.” She'd left it hanging on the coat tree when she left, her arms laden with customer deliveries that she'd promised to drop off on her way home. “I forgot it there.”

“As I said…who's acting like she's fourteen?” He shook his head and patted his thigh for Moe to follow as he started toward the base of the drive where the mailbox listed like a ship run aground and just waiting to sink. “Come on, boy. Let's get back to work before a certain women drives us both absolutely bonkers.”

“Wait!” Lani ran after him. “Don't touch that mailbox. Does the nest have eggs?”

“I don't know.”

“You can't hurt the babies. It's cold out here. They'll surely die without shelter.” She ran ahead of him, pausing only when she came to the box. She pulled on the latch. “Eggs…I see eggs.”

“It's too cold, Lani. They're probably already—”

“Don't say it.” She jabbed a finger into Ryan's shoulder, trying her best not to acknowledge the band of muscle there. “You can't disturb the mailbox. We have to at least give those eggs a chance. I get most of my mail at the salon, anyway, so I'll just leave a note for the postman to suspend delivery here until…well, until further notice. So, just leave that nest be, Ryan.”

“You're an enigma, you know that, Lani?” It was more of a statement than a question. He sighed and scratched his head. “But, I'll move this particular project to last on the list, and pick up a new mailbox on my way home tonight. I'll fix things so you can still receive mail here and your baby robins are safe—for now.”

~*~

“Come on, Moe.” Ryan patted his thigh as he headed toward the pick-up. “We'll need the ladder and a little divine help if we're going to fix those shutters on the front eave of the house before the sun goes down.”

Moe whined and tilted his head toward the dipping orb in the west, as if to say, “Let's get a move on, then.”

Along the horizon, shades of magenta and gold melded in a beautiful ballet of color, ushering in the evening. A light switched on inside the frame house, and through the expansive living room window Ryan saw Lani pass through a doorway toward the kitchen. He knew it was the kitchen because he'd spent time there…lazy afternoons eating oatmeal-raisin cookies with Lani and her grandmother, playing rummy and Scrabble and an assortment of other board games together when he and Lani needed a break from swimming in the creek beneath the hot summer sun.

Cora O'Dwyer's death had left a sense of sadness in Ryan's heart; he couldn't even begin to imagine what the loss meant to Lani.

Ryan hoisted the extension ladder from the bed of the truck and slipped the hammer and a handful of nails into his tool belt. As he returned to the house, the snappy melody of “Jingle Bell Rock” drifted through the window glass. He hummed along, peering into the living room in hopes of another glimpse of Lani.

"Therefore if you are presenting your offering at the altar, and there remember that your brother has something against you, leave your offering there before the altar and go; first be reconciled to your brother, and then come and present your offering.”

The words from James 5:23-24 whispered to Ryan and for a moment Mrs. Wexell's face danced before him as she shook a finger beneath his nose as if he were twelve again. “It would do you good to…take the words to heart.”

Well, he'd read them as soon as he'd returned home from Styles and Smiles, taking a handful of precious minutes to calm his heart and prepare his mind for the honorable task of leading the Fighters for Hire fundraiser. He'd soon committed the verses to memory, and, as usual, found Mrs. Wexell had a valid point.

His good works meant nothing without Lani's forgiveness. What she needed to forgive him for wasn't yet crystal clear—at least not to Ryan—but the bottom line was, she felt slighted by his actions so it would do both of them good to get to the bottom of things and air it all out…once and for all.

Ryan's thoughts drifted all over the board as he made quick work of reattaching the loosened shutters while Moe curled beneath the ladder to soak up the last precious rays of sunlight. He recalled the Christmas Eve his senior year of high school when his mom and sister got stranded at O'Hare airport upon their return from one of his mom's lectures at the University of Chicago Art Institute. He could have stayed alone at home—his dad had been gone half-a-dozen years by that time—but Grandma Cora, as she insisted on being called, wouldn't hear of such a thing over the holiday. So the kindhearted woman had opened her home to him, and he'd spent the better part of that afternoon and evening helping Lani string lights and had even woken in the guest room Christmas morning to a snow-blanketed pasture and gifts waiting for him beneath the tree.

He'd given Lani a gift that Christmas, as well. He wondered if she still had it after all these years.

The sound of the holiday music coming from inside the house heightened, drawing Ryan back. With the waning sunlight, the cool chill of a slight breeze took hold of him, seeping deep into his bones. He'd drained the last of the coffee from his thermos an hour ago, and his belly grumbled with the realization that he'd worked straight through breakfast and lunch and was now closing in on dinner. He heard the screen door slam against its frame beneath him and footsteps padded along the porch floor.

“You've worked long enough for one day, don't you think?”

Ryan lowered his gaze to the porch and found Lani standing there, her hair dancing like flames in the breeze. She was wrapped in a chunky sweater with her arms crossed over her chest, but that did little to hide the gentle swell of her hips and the slight, appealing curve of her shoulders. She shifted feet and leaned back against the porch rail as if she weren't quite sure what to say next.