Love Inspired December 2014 - Box Set 2 of 2: Her Holiday Family\Sugar Plum Season\Her Cowboy Hero\Small-Town Fireman (24 page)

“...not busy tomorrow night,” Helen was saying, “I'd like to have you over for dinner, to thank you for all your help with the studio. I'll be making fried chicken.”

Jason was pretty swamped these days, but he wasn't one to turn down a home-cooked meal. “I do like your fried chicken.”

“That's settled, then. Just come by when you finish at the mill, and I'll have a place ready for you at the table.”

“Sounds great. And I'll bring some more work for you,” he promised Fred as he gathered up the pieces on his way to the door. “It sure is nice to have someone helping out who actually knows what they're doing.”

“Connie's not all that mechanical, either,” her uncle agreed with a chuckle. “Amy got that from her, I guess.”

Jason had been wondering about Amy's father, and with that casual family comment it seemed the man was completely out of the picture. He knew how that went. He nearly mentioned that he'd also been pitching in to make repairs at the studio, then thought better of it. Hearing how much had slipped through the cracks while he was laid up wouldn't help Fred's recuperation at all, especially since the apartment in question was his niece's. Instead, Jason simply said good-night.

When he got to Arabesque, the parking spots in front of the studio were empty, so he took the one right in front of the door. The lobby was dark, but he noticed the lights over the stage were still on. Framed by the window, the elegant curtains drew his eyes to a single figure silhouetted in a spotlight.

It was Amy, clearly unaware that anyone was watching her. With her arms in a graceful pose, she seemed to glide over the floor, spinning slowly here and there, then pausing to write something on a piece of paper. When she tried a certain movement, even from a distance he saw her wince and grab her back with her hands.

His heart shot into his throat, and before he knew what he was doing, he was standing beside her. “Are you okay?”

“I'm fine,” she all but snarled. “What are you doing out there spying on me?”

“Not spying,” he corrected with a smile. “Admiring. Until you hurt your back, anyway. Before that, it was like watching a cloud move across the sky.”

“It's nice of you to say that.”

From her tone, he could tell she didn't share his opinion. He hadn't known her long, but she fascinated him, this delicate woman who had a vein of pure steel running through her. With a tough outer shell guarding a tender heart, she spoke to him in a way he'd never experienced before. In turn, he found himself wanting to protect her from harm and applaud her determination to take on the world single-handedly.

He didn't understand why, but there was definitely something special about Amy Morgan. Rather than argue with her, though, he opted to change the subject. “What're you doing?”

“Blocking steps for the kids.” She showed him her notes, which featured a diagram labeled with things he couldn't begin to comprehend. “The original choreography is way too complicated for beginners, so I'm simplifying it for them. I'm designing a new dance for the prince and was trying it out when you came in.”

“And interrupted you,” he guessed with a sheepish grin. “Sorry. It looked good to me, though.”

“I wish I could see for myself,” she said wistfully. “I can't dance and watch at the same time.”

“That fancy phone of yours must have a video function on it. You could record yourself.”

Before he finished speaking, her face twisted with the kind of pain no one should have to endure. “I hate watching myself move,” she ground out through clenched teeth. “It's ugly.”

“Nothing about you is ugly,” he assured her in his gentlest tone. “You're still the prettiest girl I've ever seen.”

“That's sweet, but you don't have to lie to make me feel better.”

Her eyes filled with equal parts gratitude and tears, and Jason scrambled to come up with some comforting words. “I'd never lie to a lady. My mom'd kill me.”

“You're a grown man. How could she possibly find out?”

“Trust me, she'd know.”

After a moment, Amy's wary look mellowed into a more friendly one, and she gave him a tentative smile. “In that case, you could help me with this. If you don't mind,” she added hastily. “I know it's late.”

Five a.m. would come pretty early, and he should have been in bed an hour ago, but her shy request drove any thoughts of sleep right out of his head. “I've got some time. Whattaya need me to do?”

Grasping his arms, Amy moved him into place and rattled off a series of moves. A dancer would be able to follow along, but a lumberjack? Not so much.

“Right,” he responded with a laugh. “How 'bout in English?”

“Was I unclear?”

“Oh, I heard you fine. It's just I don't have a clue what you meant.” Inspiration struck, and he suggested, “Maybe you could show me.”

That got him a decidedly suspicious look. “Are you trying to get me to dance with you?” When he grinned, she rolled those beautiful eyes at him. “You're pathetically easy to read.”

“I figure there's no sense in making a big mishmash of things.” Opening his arms in his version of a ballet-style pose, he said, “Are we dancing or what?”

After a few seconds, she apparently decided he was harmless and ventured closer. He listened carefully to her instructions, and they slowly moved through the steps. Involved in one sport or another all his life, he'd managed not to embarrass himself at proms or his brothers' weddings. But next to Amy, he felt like a serious clod, and he reminded himself to be especially careful not to stomp on her toes.

Glancing down, he noticed how ridiculous their feet looked opposite each other. His shoes were not only huge, they were scuffed and stained—the opposite of her black patent flats with their classy velvet bows. The contrast was so complete, he couldn't help chuckling.

“What?” she asked, glancing around to see what was so funny.

“Our feet. They don't really go together, do they?”

She peeked at their shoes, then met his eyes with a laugh. “Not any more than the rest of us does. You're like a big redwood, and I'm a little twig.”

“A beautiful twig,” he amended with a warm smile. “One with gorgeous flowers that smell incredible.”

She blushed, but to his surprise, she didn't look away. Instead, she held his gaze, searching his eyes for something. In that moment, he no longer cared that what he was feeling for her didn't make any sense. Whatever she was looking for, he wanted her to find it in him.

“It's jasmine,” she said quietly, the corner of her mouth lifting invitingly. “Do you like it?”

“Very much.” Sensing that he was approaching a line with her, he veered away before he crossed over it. Amy had been through an emotional wringer, and their growing friendship was fragile, at best. He wasn't about to destroy it by pushing things too fast. “'Course, I spend most of my time at the mill with machines that leak oil and guys that smell like... Well, you get the drift.”

She laughed, a bright, carefree sound very much at odds with the serious woman he'd been getting acquainted with. It made him think of the young ballerina in the pictures on the wall, and he was pleased to discover that joyful girl still existed. Then and there, he decided he'd have to come up with some more ways to draw her out into the light. She deserved that, and odd as it was, it seemed he had a knack for doing it.

After a few minutes, she stopped directing his steps, shadowing him as he moved across the stage. They drifted from spotlight to spotlight, through the half-decorated ballroom to the huge tree with its flickering electric candles and old-fashioned ornaments. Since they weren't touching, it wasn't as if they were actually dancing together, but he felt a connection to her that went beyond the physical. He couldn't have explained it if he tried, but he liked the way it felt.

Pausing in front of the incomplete marble fireplace, he said, “I forgot to show you this.”

Flipping a switch hidden behind the wall, he set the electric flames in motion. They reflected off the tinsel and sparkling balls, giving the set a warm, cozy glow.

“It's perfect,” Amy breathed. She stared up at him, the Christmas lights twinkling in her eyes.

The urge to drop in for a kiss was nearly overpowering, and he sternly tamped it down. Amy trusted him, and he wanted to retain his good-guy status. “It's what you asked me for.”

As sadness drifted through her expressive eyes, she frowned. “I don't always get what I ask for.”

Laced with anguish, her comment drove through him like a knife. That this sweet, talented woman had been denied her life's dream struck him as the worst kind of tragedy. He pictured her alone in some hospital, begging for divine help that had never come. She'd picked herself up and moved on, but he could see part of her was stranded in the past, wishing for things that could never be. While he could imagine God redirecting her onto a different path for some reason, Jason knew that explanation would not only anger her, it might make her pull away from him. Whatever it took, he was determined not to let that happen.

“That's true for all of us. But you've made a new start here, and from where I'm standing, it looks like it's going really well.”

“This isn't what I want,” she confided in a desperate whisper. “I want to dance.”

Suddenly, nothing meant more to him than to see her happy before he left. With that in mind, he said, “Then let's dance. Show me the routine you worked out for Clara and her prince.”

As he took her hands in his, she stared at him as if she was seeing him for the first time. “Are you for real?”

“Yup. And I'm all yours.” As soon as those words popped out, he realized how they sounded, and he cringed. “Sorry about that. I meant—”

“I know what you meant,” she assured him, rewarding him with a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

Being there felt so right, he'd have gladly stayed on that stage with her all night long. But he didn't think he should tell her that, so he went with an old standard. “You're welcome.”

Chapter Five

“I
s that what you're wearing?”

Jason stopped at the head of the stairs and turned to face the music. Olivia Barrett, his grandmother and authority on all things etiquette related, stood in the middle of the hallway, hands on her hips and a look of horror on her face.

“Yeah,” he responded, trying not to laugh at what she clearly thought was a major fashion error. “Why?”

She let out an exasperated breath that spoke of decades of fighting with the Barrett men. “You look like you're going to a barn raising instead of dinner with the Morgans.”

“It's Fred and Helen.” Her odd expression set off alarm bells in his head, and he gave her a hard stare. “Right?”

She hesitated a few seconds, then said, “And Amy.”

Groaning, he muttered, “What're you trying to do to me?”

Obviously embarrassed, she made a show of dusting something off the hand-carved newel post. Which of course was spotless. “Helen and I just want you kids to be happy.”

Why did it not surprise him that Amy's aunt was in on this? Come to think of it, he should've figured out something was up when she asked him to dinner in the first place. Luring him in with fried chicken, no less.

Recognizing she and her friend meant well, he reassured Gram with a smile. “I'm very happy, being home and working at the mill. What makes you think I need more than that?”

From the glimmer in her eyes, Jason guessed the town gossip mill had ratted him out. “Brenda Lattimore saw you two at the studio last night. Dancing,” she added in a triumphant voice.

“So? Amy's a dance teacher, and I was helping her put together some moves for her students.” Even to his own ears, that sounded lame, and he couldn't help chuckling. “All right, you got me. I like her, okay?”

“We like her, too,” Gram told him as they headed downstairs together. “She's a sweet girl who's taken a terrible blow. She needs all the understanding she can get.”

“And you think I'm the one to give it to her, is that it?”

They'd reached the bottom of the stairs, and she turned to him with a look so full of love, he silently thanked God for making him part of her family. “Yes, I do. You've got a wonderful heart, just looking for the right woman to make a life with. Amy didn't land back in Barrett's Mill by accident, you know. God brought her here.”

“For me,” he said, filling in the blank for her. When she nodded, he shook his head. “I appreciate that, but before you and Helen start picking out wedding music, maybe we should find out what Amy thinks first.”

“She'll love you, of course. All the girls do.”

Which was the problem, complicated by the fact that Paul's assessment was dead-on: Jason was a sucker for a pretty face and a sad story. He fell too hard, too fast, and as he edged closer to twenty-five, he knew he couldn't keep on going that way. A guy could take only so much rejection, after all, and he'd promised himself the next time he proposed would be the last.

Since he hated to burst Gram's romantic bubble, he shook off his brooding with a chuckle. “How 'bout I go have dinner and then we'll see what happens after that?”

“But—”

“Let him go, Olivia,” Granddad called out from the hospital bed that occupied their dining room. “You look fine, by the way. No matter what a woman says, a man looks better in his own plain clothes than someone else's fancy suit.”

Jason had been living with them since returning to help out at the mill, but he still wasn't quite used to seeing the frail patient that had taken Granddad's place. At first, he could hardly stand to look at him, connected to an IV that fed him medicine to ease the pain of the cancer destroying his body. Gradually, the man's upbeat attitude, driven by a belief that his life had gone according to divine plan, eased some of Jason's sadness.

But this Christmas would be his last. The whole family knew it, and Will and Olivia refused to avoid the topic, instead choosing to keep it in the open and treasure every day they had together. Jason and Paul had come back from Oregon to fulfill Granddad's wish for reopening the mill to produce furniture again. That he'd lived long enough to enjoy their success was something Jason thanked God for every night before he went to sleep.

When Jason realized his grandparents were staring at him, he put aside his dark thoughts and summoned a smile. “Well, I'm off. I've got my cell phone if you need me.”

“I don't suppose you'd bring me some of Helen's fried chicken?” Granddad asked hopefully. “Hers is almost as good as Olivia's.”

“You got it.” Jason waved as he opened the door. Kissing his grandmother's cheek, he said, “'Night, Gram.”

“Good night, little bear,” she replied, using the nickname she'd given him as a child. “Mind your manners, now.”

Knowing she'd hear all about his behavior from Helen long before he made it home, he couldn't help laughing. “Yes, ma'am.”

“Everyone will be here Sunday after church to decorate the house,” she reminded him through the screen door. “Amy's got quite the eye for Christmas decorations, from what I hear. Maybe you can get some suggestions from her.”

A blind man could see where she was headed with that one, and he teased, “It'd be easier to just invite her over to help.”

“If you want,” she said, as if the possibility hadn't even crossed her mind. Her expression mirrored the one Helen had given him yesterday, and he trotted down the steps shaking his head.

If she got her way, he and Amy would be hitched by Valentine's Day. Given his less-than-stellar track record, the mere thought of that should've chilled the blood in his veins. But it didn't. That meant one of two things, he mused as he went down the driveway and turned onto the sidewalk. Either the idea was so ridiculous he'd already dismissed it, or he liked it. Whichever one was correct, he had the feeling his nice, quiet life was about to get a lot more complicated.

As he strolled toward the Morgan place, it occurred to him that the stick-to-the-plan ballet teacher probably wasn't the type who'd be thrilled about having a surprise guest for dinner. Taking his phone from the pocket of his good jeans, he thumbed through his contacts list to the number she'd given him when he signed on to tackle the sets for her show.

“Jason? Is something wrong?”

“Nah, just calling to warn you I'm coming for dinner tonight. Your aunt made it sound like payback for helping at the studio, but Gram let it slip that they're trying to get us together.”

She'd called herself a perfectionist, and he assumed she'd be irritated by the unexpected change in plans. Instead, she laughed. “That explains the good china and five-layer chocolate cake in the kitchen.”

“Aw, man. You mean the one with her secret raspberry sauce and fresh raspberries?”

“That's the one.”

“No one can resist that cake,” he said. “It tied for first place at the county fair last year.”

“With what?”

“My gram's cranberry cobbler,” he replied proudly. “You should try it sometime.”

After a moment, she asked, “Are you asking me over for dessert some night?”

Was he? He hadn't intended to, but now that he replayed his comment in his head, he could see how she'd get that impression. He was normally much smoother than that around women, and this one was on the other end of the phone, so he had no excuse for the slipup. What was wrong with him, anyway?

Then he recalled Gram's invitation, and as he entered the Morgans' driveway, he decided to go for it. “Sure. How 'bout Sunday?”

She was standing on the front porch, and she waved to him as she said, “That would be nice. What time?”

Closing his phone, Jason took the steps two at a time and greeted her with a smile. “Does lunchtime work for you?”

“Sure.”

“I should warn you, we'll be decorating the house that day, so the whole family will be there. It might get a little zooey, but the upside is there'll be lots of good food and Christmas music.”

“I like both those things,” she commented with a shy smile that made his heart roll over in his chest. “Thanks for inviting me.”

“No problem.”

He opened the door for her to go inside, and she turned to him with a frown. “Aunt Helen told me your grandfather's not doing well. I'm so sorry.”

“We all are.”

With eyes full of sympathy, she touched his arm in a comforting gesture. “If there's anything I can do to help, please let me know.”

Pushing aside a sudden wave of sadness, he forced a grin. “Coming over and pretending you don't mind being set up with me will do fine.”

“I can manage that.”

Smiling, she moved past him and went inside. The scent of fried chicken and fresh corn reached him where he was standing in the living room, and he poked his head through the doorway. “Helen, that smells amazing.”

“You haven't seen anything yet.”

“I heard something about chocolate and raspberries.”

“You heard right,” she assured him. “For now, could you run out and tell Fred dinner's ready? He's tinkering out in the shop and can't hear me over that saw.”

“I heard you,” Fred grumbled from the back door. “I was waiting for Jason 'cause I knew you wouldn't be putting anything on the table till he got here.”

Southern hospitality, Jason thought with a grin. He sure had missed it during the five years he'd been wandering around the country. Once they were all seated at the table, Helen brought in a platter heaped with crisp, golden-fried chicken that made his stomach rumble in anticipation. “Sorry about that. I worked through lunch today.”

“So, things are busy out at the mill?” Fred asked as he passed dishes along.

“Crazy busy, but we're all glad for the work.”

“Carpentry isn't as exciting as lumberjacking, I'd imagine.”

“True,” Jason responded, “but I'm not liable to break my neck doing it, either. Besides, I like being home, especially during the holidays. I used to race back for Christmas and leave right after. This year, I won't be doing that.”

“That means you'll be around for the Starlight Festival,” Helen said while she spooned fluffy mashed potatoes onto his plate. “When's the last time you went to that?”

“It's been a while,” he admitted.

“I vaguely remember that,” Amy said, punctuating the comment with her fork. “There's all kinds of goodies, and white lights strung all over the place like stars. Then they light up the tree in the square.”

Her eyes shimmered with excitement, and he was pleased to get a glimpse of the joy he kept hoping to see in her. It made him wonder if the little girl she'd once been was still in there somewhere, waiting for a chance to come out and play again.

“The whole town turns out for it,” Fred told her. “Local business owners donate the food, and it gives us all a chance to get together to celebrate the holidays.”

The conversation died down while they worked their way through Helen's excellent meal. When she brought the promised cake and coffee to the table, she said, “Amy, I was just thinking the festival might be a nice way to let more people know about Arabesque. I could help you put something together, if you want.”

Amy's expression dimmed, and she sighed. “I'd love to, Auntie, but we're just scraping by as it is. If enrollment doesn't pick up, I'm not sure we're going to make it until spring.”

Jason was well acquainted with the tough business climate around Barrett's Mill these days. Reopening the mill had been a godsend for the local craftsmen they'd been able to bring on. He just wished they could afford to hire more of them. Expanding the crew would not only make less work for each pair of hands, it would give some talented people a welcome influx of cash.

While the delicious cake fell apart in his mouth, an idea popped into his head, and he quickly swallowed. “How 'bout if you advertise the show at the Starlight Festival?”

“There's no marketing allowed,” Helen reminded him. “It's supposed to be a fun, free event.”

“Sure, but if you offered a treat free of charge, you could wrap it in something
Nutcracker
-ish with the studio's logo on it, right?”

Amy's eyes lit up, and she leaned forward with sudden interest. “What did you have in mind?”

Turning to Helen, he grinned. “Your pralines. They're made with nuts, so they tie in with the show. And they're delicious, besides. It's a win-win.”

“That's a great idea, Jason.” Amy turned hopeful eyes on her aunt. “If you make them, I'll take care of the wrapping and handing out.”

“Count me in,” Jason added. “It'll be fun.”

Faced with the two of them, Helen tipped her head with an indulgent smile. “I suppose I could whip up a batch or two. But where will you find
Nutcracker
wrappers?”

“Online,” Amy answered immediately. “I'll get them overnighted so we have them in time. We'll wrap them up Saturday morning right before the tree lighting. It'll be perfect,” she added, beaming across the table at Jason.

“Yeah, it will.” Returning that smile was the easiest thing he'd ever done, and he ignored the annoying voice in the back of his mind cautioning him that he was headed onto very thin ice. Even if that ended up being true, his gut was telling him trouble with Amy would be well worth it.

* * *

The Barrett's Mill Starlight Festival definitely lived up to its name.

The night was brisk, but nothing compared to the winters she'd spent in New York City. The clear sky was filled with stars that rivaled the twinkle lights strung through the oaks and elms in the square. In the middle of it all, standing regally above the fray, towered a blue spruce comparable to any she'd seen outside of Rockefeller Center. Draped in strands of lights, it was dark, waiting for the lighting ceremony later in the evening.