“Twelve. I’d been taking classes at a ballet school in D.C. for four years, and that was my first Christmas production.”
“Not really,” he teased, tapping his finger on a framed print of her as a six-year-old Rosebud. “I was here for this one, and I remember you.”
“You do not,” she huffed. “I barely remember it myself.”
“You came onstage after the other flowers,” he corrected her with a grin. “The older ones all stayed in line, doing their thing, while you floated around like a butterfly. They were good dancers, but there was something different about you. Not to mention, I thought you looked like the pretty ballerina in my cousin’s jewelry box.”
Amy felt a blush creeping over her cheeks, and she blinked up at him in total bewilderment. She’d always assumed boys that age were more interested in bugs and snakes than classical dance, and that he still remembered her all these years later was astounding.
Realizing she’d been staring up at him like a brainless twit in some old-time romance movie, she gave herself a mental shake. “I’m flattered.”
A slow, maddening grin stretched across his features, transforming them into something she was certain most women couldn’t resist. Fortunately for her, she’d been burned by a master, and she’d learned to be very cautious around the male species. Since you couldn’t accurately predict when they might turn on you, she’d learned it was best to avoid close contact with them whenever possible.
“So, let’s see what Fred left you with.”
Jason easily leaped onto the low stage, then reached back to offer her a hand up. More than a little jealous of his athletic maneuver, she shook her head. “I’ll just take the stairs.”
That was all she said, but compassion flooded his eyes, and he jumped down as easily as he’d gone up. “You’re hurt, aren’t you? That’s why you came back here, because something happened and you can’t dance anymore.”
His quick assessment came in a sympathetic tone that made her want to scream in frustration and weep at the same time. Getting a firm grip on the emotions he’d unleashed, she straightened her back as far as it would go and gazed defiantly up at him. She might have lost a lot of things, but she still had her pride.
“I’ve changed my mind about the sets,” she said curtly. “Thank you for coming in.”
He didn’t even flinch. Small as she was, most people backed off when she glared at them the way she was doing now. Apparently, Jason was made of sterner stuff, and she grudgingly admitted he had some grit to go with those rugged looks and killer smile. “You’re not getting rid o’ me that easy, Miss Amy Morgan.”
“I don’t need your pity.”
“Wasn’t giving you any,” he reasoned, folding his arms as if daring her to argue with him. When she didn’t, he went on. “I admire anyone who can take a hit, then pick themselves up and keep on going. You’re tougher than you look.”
No one had ever spoken to her that way, so directly and with such obvious sincerity. Accustomed to people who fawned or blustered depending on the circumstances, she wasn’t sure how to take it. “Thank you?”
“You’re welcome. Mind if I ask what happened?”
She winced, but decided that since he seemed determined to work with her, it was easier to get the explanations out of the way sooner rather than later. “In a nutshell, two years ago I was driving back to D.C. and took a shortcut that turned into a patch of ice. Next thing I knew, I woke up strapped into a hospital bed, completely immobilized. They told me I had a fifty-fifty chance of ever walking again.”
“Guess you proved them wrong.”
“That was the plan.”
The response came out more tersely than she’d intended, but Jason didn’t seem the least bit fazed. “Good for you.”
Flashing her an encouraging smile, he offered his arm, and for some insane reason she took it. The old-fashioned gesture seemed appropriate for him while standing in this old building, dressed like someone who spent his days working hard. Now that she thought about it, he reminded her of the guy on the wrapper of her paper towels.
Only this lumberjack had a real twinkle in his eyes, and he’d managed to get past her usual defenses without any effort at all. That could only mean one thing: he was trouble. And she’d had enough trouble lately to last her the rest of her life.
* * *
Amy Morgan was still the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, Jason thought while he inspected the progress Fred had made on the set pieces. Some were partially assembled, but others lay in a heap backstage with hand-drawn schematics thumbtacked to them. Everything was still in raw form, with no paint or details at all.
It was a big job to complete in only three weeks, and with the holiday shopping season in full swing, it was all hands on deck filling custom orders at the mill in time for Christmas delivery. While he’d much rather be back in Oregon logging, his first obligation was to the family business. It wasn’t only Jason and his brother relying on it now. A dozen other people worked there, too, and closing the doors wasn’t an option for any of them.
But if he didn’t take on Amy’s project, who would? Everyone was busy this time of year, and being single, he had more spare hours than most. Each day she spent trying to find a handyman was another day of lost build time. If he didn’t step up, when someone finally did it might be too late, and she might have to cancel the show. Some of those kids were probably the same way she’d been, working hard and eager to get their turn in the spotlight. He’d feel awful if they lost out and he could’ve done something to prevent it.
“I know there’s a lot to do,” she lamented with a worried look. “Uncle Fred’s collision shop just lost a good mechanic to that new chain over in Cambridge, and he’s been working extra hours to keep up. He fit this in whenever he could.”
“Yeah, it’s tough.”
She seemed to think he was framing a no, and she stepped forward with desperation clouding her china-doll features. “I can pay you for your time. It wouldn’t be much, but you could use it to buy some nice Christmas presents for...whoever.”
For some crazy reason, Jason got the feeling she was trying to determine if he was unattached. He couldn’t imagine why she cared, but women were funny that way. A guy just asked you straight out if you were seeing someone, while a woman skirted the direct route and snuck in sideways. One of the many reasons he avoided getting tangled up with anyone in particular. He liked his nice, uncomplicated life just the way it was. Drama—especially female drama—he could do without.
Recognizing she was in a tight spot, in the spirit of the season he decided to give her a break and not yank her chain. “My shopping’s done, so I don’t need the money.”
Her dainty mouth fell open in a shocked O. “Are you serious? Everyone needs money.”
“I’ve got a little more than enough.” Grinning, he added, “And I don’t have a...whoever, so I’m good.”
That got СКАЧАТЬ