A Boulder Creek Christmas (4 page)

“I'm just about finished”—Ryan tore his gaze from her long enough to check the tightness of the nails and then, satisfied with the quality of work, he tucked the hammer back into his tool belt. Moe thumped his tail and let loose a high-pitched whine, as if voicing his agreement—“with this project, at least.”

“You've done enough, Ryan.”

“On the contrary, Lani.” He descended the ladder to face her, jamming his hands into his pockets because he wanted so badly to touch her, and he feared doing so would have the opposite effect of what he intended—to regain her trust. He'd had it once—a precious gift—but had lost it. For that, he shouldered much of the blame, and he aimed to make things right if it took…well, forever. But he hoped it wouldn't take that long. He
prayed
it wouldn't. “My tasks here have only begun. There's still so much to do.”

“In that case, I've made hot chocolate, and there's a roast in the oven. Would you like to stay for dinner?”

“You don't have to ask me twice.” Ryan lowered the ladder and positioned it lengthwise along the porch at the side of the house. He'd need it again soon since he'd noticed loosened shingles, like an unsightly patch of psoriasis, along the western slope of the roof.

“Good, because I don't plan to.” Lani caught her lower lips between her teeth and tugged before adding, “I hoped you'd say yes.”

“Did you, now?” Ryan smiled and caught a lock of her hair between his fingers as it danced in the breeze. The strands were soft as downy feathers. Reluctantly, he let them go and then slapped the thigh of his jeans as he whistled for Moe. “Come on, boy, it looks like we're finding our way out of the doghouse…at least for now.”

4

Ryan stepped into the quaint frame house and was immediately enfolded in familiar scents of cinnamon and nutmeg…aromas that elicited a plethora of warm memories. He shrugged from his jacket and hung it on the hook of a hall tree just inside the door while Moe loped ahead, eagerly sniffing the air.

A few more steps took Ryan into the heart of the house, and he simply stood stock-still for the length of several heartbeats, barely breathing as his pulse suddenly took off at a gallop. He'd missed this. He'd really, truly missed spending time here. How could he have forgotten the good times he'd spent here…the warmth and laughter?

When his pulse settled, Ryan circled the room slowly, drinking in the bright mustard-yellow walls trimmed with earthy red and a huge bay window along the length of the living room that offered a view of fruit trees, now dormant, clustered along the front yard. A wide arch opened the living room to a homey sitting area set off to one side; Grandma Cora used to love to lounge there in the padded, gliding rocker and read her Bible as cookies baked in the double oven. Oatmeal-raisin proved a house specialty. Ryan had probably eaten his weight in the sweet confections over the years.

Ryan smoothed a hand over the arm of the couch and noticed right away that it and the matching loveseat were the same as he recalled. The russet-orange and tan paisley pattern was unique, and he'd remember the fabric even if it wasn't so vibrant. Many summers ago, he and a few of his football buddies had helped Grandma Cora haul both pieces, along with the coffee table, from the furniture store and move them into the house.

And he and Lani had once shared a kiss as they sat, bathed in the warmth of firelight on the loveseat…their first and only kiss. Ryan's lips tingled—his whole body trembled—as he remembered the way Lani's eyes had shimmered like precious jewels while light danced along the living room walls. She'd leaned into him and the soft touch of her lips stole his breath as a firestorm of need ignited. He'd never felt so alive…or so much in danger.

A new, all-consuming need rushed up to wash over him. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe…couldn't think…couldn't move.

“Ryan, are you OK?” Lani took a step toward him as she slipped the chunky cardigan from her shoulders. Concern flooded her features. “You shouldn't have stayed out in the cold for so long. You worked too hard.”

“I'm fine.” Ryan scrubbed a hand over his jaw and rolled the tension from his shoulders. “It's just…memories.”

“I know what you mean.”

Did she? Was it possible that Lani remembered the night they'd kissed as well as he did? Was it branded into her memory?

Moe returned from the kitchen to the living room and did a slow three-sixty, sniffing the ground, before settling down on the braided rug. He tucked his front paws under his chin and studied Ryan with large, woeful eyes as if he could sense his turmoil. There was no stopping it—that Christmas Eve came tumbling back, plowing over Ryan like the stiffening breeze outside the bay window.

He'd just given Lani the gift he'd purchased for her several weeks before, when he happened to pass by a shop window along Main Street and glimpsed the treasure among items in the display. The gift seemed so perfect…as if it whispered directly to him. Moe seemed to agree; only a year or so old at the time, the dog had meandered down the boulevard with Ryan that afternoon and had hunkered down beside him in the shop, his tail thumping the polished tile floor in approval. Without hesitation, Ryan had made his purchase as an odd little tugging he recognized as excitement took hold in his gut. Mrs. Wexell—she and her husband had owned the jewelry shop for decades before handing it down to their daughter Jill a few years ago—had wrapped the small hinged box in shimmery gold-foil paper and added a luxurious velvet bow before she tucked the package into a gilded gift bag and handed it to him.

“That sure is something special.” Mrs. Wexell gave Ryan a quick wink. “And I'll bet it's for Lani O'Dwyer.”

“You're right.” Ryan gasped as his gaze connected with hers. Her eyes twinkled beneath the shop lights. “But how did you know?”

“Oh, I pay attention.” Mrs. Wexell's smile calmed the nerves that gnawed at him like ravenous pterodactyls. “And don't you fret, son. You made the perfect selection. She's going to love it.”

“I hope so.” Suddenly, the bag seemed to weigh a ton in his hands. “I'm not sure when I'll give it to her.”

“Oh, no worries there, Ryan.” Mrs. Wexell reached across the glass display case and patted his hand. “Simply listen to your heart, and you'll know when the time is just right.”

Well, he'd taken Mrs. Wexell's advice and had found the right time without even looking…it had come to him. Christmas Eve that year had presented itself by way of a snowstorm for the ages, beginning soon after Ryan had settled into the house with Grandma Cora and Lani for the duration. There'd been no chance of a candlelight service at Boulder Creek Community Church that night, unless one chose to venture out in a sleigh, dressed like an Eskimo. So he and Lani had come up with the idea to devise a special service all their own, filled with holiday hymns and—

“Here you go.” Lani returned from the kitchen carrying a pair of mugs. Steam wafted as she handed one to him. “Hot chocolate with a drizzle of fudge and a dollop of whipped cream—just the way you like it.”

“You remembered.” Ryan lifted the mug to his nose. The sweet aroma caused his belly to rumble with need.

“How could I forget?” Lani laughed softly, her gaze dipping to his mid-section. “And it sounds like the snack came just in time.”

“Thanks.” Ryan drew a sip and licked the whipped cream from his lips. The liquid coursed in a trail of heat that warmed him to the core. “It's delicious.”

“Good.” She drew a bone-shaped biscuit from the pocket of her jeans and tossed it to Moe, who snatched it greedily in his jaws. Lani patted his head. “You didn't think I'd forget you, did you, you big mutt?”

Moe's tail thumped as he settled back down and made quick work of the treat.

Ryan scanned the room. “You know, you're missing something in here.”

“What would that be?”

“I don't see a Christmas tree…” Ryan motioned to the corner just right of the hearth. “...or any other holiday decorations, for that matter. No chaser lights…no candles or knickknacks. I remember how you and Grandma Cora always loved to decorate during the season.”

“Grandma's gone.” Lani's voice faltered as the corners of her lips bowed down. “And I've been busy this year.”

“I'm sorry about Cora…truly.” He lifted a hand to Lani's shoulder. “But, I'm sure she'd love for you to carry on the traditions you both held so dear.”

“That's awfully presumptuous of you, don't you think, Ryan.” She shrugged his hand away.

“No.” He shook his head. “Lani. No one should ever be too busy to usher in the holiday spirit.”

“The holiday spirit doesn't come in bags and boxes, Ryan. It comes from here.” She pressed a splayed palm to his chest. “You used to know that.”

“I still do. But that doesn't mean you can't enjoy a festive home.”

“Maybe I'm not feeling all that festive this year.” She removed her hand and took a giant step back. Her eyes narrowed as the corners of her lips sagged further in an obvious reflection of the still-raw pain over Cora's death. She crossed her arms tight over her chest and lifted her chin. “And maybe it's really none of your business, either.”

“I'm sorry, Lani.”

“For what?”

“For whatever I did to hurt you. I didn't mean to. Truly, I didn't.”

“Forget it.” Lani shrugged. “It's in the past…and no longer important.” She turned away and set her mug on the coffee table. “The roast and vegetables will take a bit longer to finish, and I had to give the bread time to fully rise. Do you want to sit by the fire while we wait? You must be chilled to the bone.”

“That sounds really nice.” Ryan could not dismiss the tremulous tone of her voice. She was about to cry. Had he hurt her that badly…truly? His gut seized as he racked his brain to unearth a clue but none came. He gazed at her as the last vestiges of sunlight spilling through the bay window turned her hair to burnished copper.

“OK, then.” Lani reached for the fire poker and bent to stir the ashes gathered along the base of the hearth. Nothing flickered or popped…not a single ember took hold. The brick sat stone-cold. Moe lumbered over to check things out, drew a sniff, and sneezed as the soot tickled his nose. He edged closer to Lani, his eyes crossed, and she gave him a good scratch between the ears.

“OK.” Ryan studied Lani's long, slender fingers as she smoothed her hand down the length of Moe's back. Those fingers were a mirror of her shape…tall and slender and graceful as a willow dancing in the breeze. He used to love to watch her swim in the creek, her stroke so fluid it captured his attention and held tight. Once again, that special Christmas Eve whispered to the forefront of Ryan's memory. Lani had loved his gift so much that, upon opening the small velvet box and catching her first glimpse of the treasure inside, she'd gasped with delight. Then, before Ryan could even begin to wrap his brain around her joy, she'd leaned in and thrown her arms around him, squeezing tight as her lips found his. The rest…well, the rest was history. “Sure, let's sit by the fire…if you don't mind.”

~*~

Alani was already second-guessing her decision to ask Ryan to stay for dinner, but the deed was done, and it would do no good to convey those feelings to him at this point, anyway. He'd worked hard today, knocking at least half a dozen tasks from the to-do list he'd penned—items that had been waiting months for attention. The deck boards out back no longer sagged, and gutters along the detached garage were now minus the dead leaves and twigs that kept them from properly draining. As for the shutters that flanked windows along the front of the house…well, their slaps against the wood-framed eave would no longer wake her in the night; Ryan had expertly repaired them, as well. Guilt niggled as Alani stood convinced she in no way deserved such generosity, especially after the way she'd acted when she caught him out front. She'd spent a good part of the afternoon trying to figure a way to repay at least a small portion of the expense—in both time and money—and decided a hot meal would make a fitting start. Good thing she'd gone grocery shopping yesterday after closing up the salon, or Ryan would be eating tuna fish on stale wheat with a side of overripe bananas.

Shopping had given her something to do, and the store aisles were deserted since everyone else in town had headed to the auction—everyone except her and the express lane Buy-Right cashier.

Not that avoiding the event had kept Lani from the fundraiser's details; the late-night news had made quick work of highlighting the festivities across all four local channels. Ryan had, as she'd expected, looked better than he had a right to in his classy black tux accented by the perfect-shade-of-blue bow tie and cummerbund—which, by the way—accentuated his lean waist and muscled chest. When he gazed into the camera during the Channel Six interview, his cobalt eyes mesmerized, and Lani was convinced he could see her through the TV. She'd even set aside her dog-eared magazine and sat up a bit straighter in the loveseat, smoothing a hand over the wrinkles in her snowflake-patterned flannel pajama shirt before she realized the eerie feeling was simply her imagination playing tricks on her. Ryan couldn't possibly see her through the TV…could he?

Well, he could see her now, and despite the internal struggle not to make more of the dinner than it actually was, she'd taken a bit of extra time to add a dab of tinted gloss to her lips and tame the flyaway wisps of hair that danced with static around her face whenever the humidity dropped below eighty percent.

Lani turned to set the fireplace poker in its stand, and her shoulder bumped Ryan's chest. The strong terrain of corded muscles illustrated Ryan's dedication to staying in shape for the sake of his job and the people who depended on his firefighting skills. The innocent touch kindled a need in the pit of her stomach, making her pulse lurch into a staccato drumroll. She drew a deep breath and did her best to force back the unexpected rush of feelings.