Love Finds You in North Pole, Alaska (30 page)

“What…?”

“That you’ll never
ever
aim that big ugly RV of yours east again.”

“If I survive the rest of the winter, you’re stuck with me.”

“Oh, Bryce, it’s absolutely beautiful!” Sam sat on the glossy seat of the rocking chair he’d made her.

“There’s a message for you, burned into the underside of the seat.”

Hopping up, she tilted the chair on its side and read aloud, “ ‘To Sam, my one and only, now and forever, Bryce.’ ” After returning the rocker to its upright position, she said, “It’s one of the best birthday gifts I’ve ever received.” Hugging him, she added, “Thanks, Bryce.”

“Well, I had to do something extra special, considering I missed your actual birthday by a couple of months.”

“You were a little preoccupied,” she admitted, “with Olive in the hospital and all.”

“Still, I—”

“Still nothing!” she interrupted. “What’s that old saying? ‘Better late than never’?” If only she could convince herself to adopt that viewpoint about his so-far-non-existent marriage proposal… “
Your
birthday is right around the corner, and we’ll get to celebrate that right on time.”

His grin reminded her of the little boys who’d traipsed through Rudolph’s last week, eyes wide with wonderment as they chose gifts for their parents and siblings. “You’re okay with a triple-layer chocolate cake, aren’t you?” she asked.

“Well, sure. Who wouldn’t be?” He hesitated and then added, “You’re not planning a whole big thing, I hope, ’cause I hate a fuss.”

“Guess you’ll just have to wait until tonight,” she told him, grinning, “to find out just how big—or little—a fuss I’ve made.”

“Not a party,” he said, slapping a hand over his eyes. “Please tell me it isn’t a party.”

“Patience,” she said, “because in just a few hours, you’ll know for sure.”

Wincing, he shook his head. “Samantha Sinclair, what am I gonna do with you?”

Ask me to marry you, you big oaf,
she thought,
that’s what!

“You’d better get baking,” he said, kissing each corner of her mouth, “because you woke a sleeping monster with all your chocolate cake talk.”

When she didn’t react, Bryce turned her around, lifted her off her feet, and deposited her on the next step up from the landing. “I wasn’t kidding, woman,” he added, his voice deepening an octave. “Go. Now. Kitchen.”

He clapped his hands as she raced up the stairs, giggling like a giddy child. Oh, she’d bake him a cake, all right. And wouldn’t he be surprised when he bit into her very special present to him!

As the cake baked, Sam tidied her apartment, showered, and spent far more time than normal trying to figure out what to wear to their private birthday dinner.

She did her best to set a pretty table, considering how few of the dishes matched, but Sam wasn’t worried about his reaction to it. One of the best things about growing up in a houseful of boys was knowing they didn’t give a whit about things like that…if they noticed them at all.

It was far more important to take care while frosting the cake, so she’d know which slice held his special surprise. Every time she imagined how he’d look once his fork poked into the plastic bag, it was all she could do to keep from squealing. Part of her wished she’d prepared a simpler supper, one that would be over quickly, instead of soup and salad and rolls, all made from scratch, that would precede her Italian specialty, stuffed shells. He’d promised to knock off work by five so that he’d have time to shower and change for their dinner at six. In an hour, two at most, he’d have tangible proof of how much she loved him and what she was willing to sacrifice to prove it. Maybe with that knowledge tucked into his thick marine skull, he’d be inspired to pop the question.

She looked at the cake. At the perfectly set table. At the coffeepot, all set and ready to go. “Well, a girl can dream,” she whispered. But rather than take chances, Sam headed for the living room and grabbed her Bible. What better way to pass these remaining minutes than by reading God’s word?

Just as she’d expected, spending time with the Lord calmed her and hurried the hands of time. When at last she heard Bryce’s gentle knock on the other side of the kitchen door, her heart leaped into her throat. “Help me, Father,” she said, “not to spoil everything by blurting out his surprise….”

Two hours later, when Bryce shoved himself away from the table, she nearly cried when he patted his belly and said, “I’m just way too full for dessert.”

“But it’s your birthday,” she protested. “You have to at least have a
bite
of cake.” She didn’t wait for him to agree or disagree. Instead, Sam gathered up the supper dishes and stacked them in the sink. And because the kitchen hadn’t come equipped with dessert plates, she used saucers.

“If I didn’t know better,” he said, chuckling as he watched her distribute them, “I’d say you were a dealer in Vegas in a former life.”

Sam put the cake on the table and lit the fat candle in the middle of it. And with no fanfare, she launched into a super-speedy rendition of the birthday song. “Now make a wish,” she instructed.

“I’m a little old for stuff like that, don’t you think?”

“Humor me.”

While he closed his eyes, Sam tapped a foot.

“Happy now?” he asked.

“I will be, soon as you blow out the candle—”

“Sam…”

“—so your wish will come true.”

And even before the wisp of smoke curled toward the ceiling, she’d carved off an enormous wedge of cake and plopped it onto his plate.

“Good grief,” he sputtered, opening them, “have you mistaken me for the Jolly Green Giant?” Pointing, he said, “Surely you don’t think I can eat that whole—”

“Humor me,” she said again.

He picked up his fork and used it as a pointer. “You’re behaving mighty strangely tonight. More so than usual. It had better not mean there’s a crowd of well-wishers on their way over here to sing ‘Happy Birthday’
slowly
…”

“You said no fanfare, so you have my word. No party.”

“Well, good,” he said, slicing into the wedge, “because I—”

Sam held her breath.

“Hey…there’s something…there’s
plastic
in my cake!” Bryce speared it with the tines of his fork. “What…? Did you put this in there?” he asked, holding it above the plate.

Sam nodded.

“Why in the world would you shove a sandwich bag into the middle of my birthday cake?” he asked, snickering.

“You’ll see.”

He gave it a closer look. “Hey, wait a minute. There’s something in it….”

Sam’s heart was pounding so hard, she thought surely it would explode. How long did it take a guy to open a zipper bag and withdraw a little envelope? she wondered, grabbing a wet dishcloth so he could wipe fudge icing from his fingers. Would he hate the gift? Love it? Think it was too much, too soon in their relationship? A ghastly thought made the breath catch in her throat. What if he saw it as an insult…like she thought he wasn’t capable of—

“Samantha Sinclair!” he blurted, interrupting her worries, “is this what I think it is?”

She gulped. “What do you think it is?”

“A check.” He looked from the slip of paper to her face and back again. “A big
fat
check.” Without wiping his fingers, he grabbed her hand. “Sam, I don’t get it. What’s it—”

“It’s so you can buy all the machines and tools you’ll need to open your furniture shop.” She reached behind her and gave him the file folder where she’d stored orders for end tables, rocking chairs, chifforobes, taken while waiting on customers at Rudolph’s.

He looked inside and figured out instantly what it held. He picked up the check again, and this time looked from it to the thin stack of orders. “Where did you get this much money?”

Shrugging, she smiled. “I sold the RV.”

“But…I thought you had plans for that money…to open a little catering business…”

“My goodness, that aunt of yours had a memory like an elephant! I only mentioned in passing, while we were unpacking a shipment, that someday I’d like to put my cooking skills to use. You know, just for side money.” She shrugged again. “I can’t believe she remembered it, let alone that she shared it with you!”

“So why am
I
holding this check, if that was supposed to fund
your
dream?”

Sam got to her feet, waved both hands as a signal for him to scoot his chair back, and when he did, she plopped onto his lap. “It wasn’t a dream, I was just, you know, thinking out loud. Olive had just finished telling me about Duke and all their plans, and then she asked me if
I
had any silly dreams like that.”

He put his forefinger on the check. “But now that you have the money…”

“I don’t
want
a catering business, silly, I want you to have your carpentry shop. Don’t you get it?”

Frowning and smiling at the same time, Bryce said, “No, I guess I don’t. Why would you sacrifice your dream to give me mine?”

She bracketed his face with both hands. “Maybe,” she said, kissing his right cheek, then his left, “because I know your dream means a whole lot more to you than mine ever did to me.” She kissed his forehead, his chin, his lips. “And maybe, because I love you that much.”

He looked at the check again. “Sam, I can’t let you—”

“You aren’t
letting
me, mister. These aren’t the dark ages. Even married women get to decide a few things for themselves nowadays!”

One corner of his mouth lifted in a slow grin. “Married women?”

She heaved a huge sigh. “Lord, give me strength,” she said, staring at the ceiling. She removed his eye patch and tossed it onto the table. “You love me, right?”

“More than life itself.”

“And you know that I love you, right?”

Bryce nodded. “Hard not to, when you’re always doing stuff like this for me.”

“So the money isn’t really mine, then, is it? It’s
ours
. And I happen to think a carpentry shop will bring in just enough extra cash to help us afford, oh….” She looked left and right, as if trying to find what they’d be able to afford written on a wall. And pressing her forehead to his, Sam finished with, “We’ll be able to afford diapers, and a high chair, a crib and changing table…. I don’t want to wait years and years to have a baby. I want to start a family right away. Just as soon as we’re…”

It dawned on her, suddenly, that Bryce still hadn’t asked her to marry him, and the fact, like a cold slap to the face, silenced her. The heat of embarrassment flooded her cheeks, and she hid them behind both hands.

“On your feet, elf,” he barked.

The instant she stood, he did, too. “Now, sit down, and for the love of Pete, please be quiet for five minutes, will you?”

Sam did as he asked, her heart nearly bursting with joy when he got down onto one knee and sandwiched her left hand between both of his.

“I don’t know why I’ve been putting this off,” he admitted, kissing her knuckles. “Guess I was waiting for just the right moment.” He looked deep into her eyes and said, “I think maybe this is that moment.” After kissing the tip of her nose, he added, “There’s a little something for you in my shirt pocket.”

Too flat, she thought, to hold one of those little velvet ring boxes, so it couldn’t be an engagement ring.

“Go on,” he urged. “I don’t want to turn loose of your hand to fish it out of there myself.”

A tiny gasp popped from her lips when she withdrew a diamond-encrusted gold band.

“I didn’t figure you for the big rock type, so I got this instead.” Bryce took it from her and started sliding it over her left ring finger, stopping at the first knuckle. “Samantha Sinclair, will you do me the great honor of becoming my wife?”

Tears welled up in her eyes and rolled down her cheeks as she threw her arms around his neck. “Hoo-boy,” she said past the sob in her throat, “you sure do know how to scare a girl.”

Hands on her shoulders, he held her at arm’s distance. “Scare a girl?”

“I didn’t think you were
ever
going to ask me to marry you!” She kissed him. Hard. Then held out her hand so he could finish sliding the ring onto her finger.

“Not so fast, missy,” he said, slipping it off and dropping it back into his pocket. “That’s a
wedding band
, not an engagement ring.” He gave the pocket two quick pats. “You want that baby,” he said, choking back tears, “you’ll have to marry me first.”

“There’s a calendar in that drawer behind you,” she said, pointing over his shoulder.

“Who needs a calendar? Marry me on Saturday.”

“
This
Saturday?”

“Sure, why not?”

“It’s the big ice-sculpting competition in town. Nobody will be available to perform the ceremony!”

Bryce nodded. “Good point. So…Sunday then?”

Her heart did a flip-flop in her chest. “Sunday it is.”

“Does that give you time to round up a poufy white dress and tiny satin shoes and a gauzy veil that I can lift before we seal the deal?”

“Good thing for you I’m not the big rock type
or
the poufy dress type, because there’s no way I could do all that in just a few days.” She winked. “But I do have time to call my folks, so let’s just pray these crazy plans of ours aren’t too last-minute for them to fly in for the wedding.”