Sugar Plum Season. Mia Ross

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СКАЧАТЬ When the orchestral holiday medley coming over the studio speakers increased in volume, he knew she’d heard him and was registering her disapproving opinion of his taste in Christmas music. Didn’t matter a bit to him, he thought as he stepped from the studio. So they didn’t enjoy the same kind of tunes. It wasn’t as if he was going to marry her or anything.

      Outside, he paused to take in the view of his hometown at the holidays. While he’d been gone, he’d seen plenty of towns, big, small and everything in between. He recalled most of their names, but none had ever measured up to Barrett’s Mill for him. At first glance, this Main Street resembled so many others, lined with buildings constructed in a time when skilled craftsmen took great pride in building things that would last forever.

      The structures had a solid look to them, which gave the village a quaint, old-fashioned appeal for residents and visitors alike. Especially this time of year, when each business went all out to win the Chamber of Commerce award for best commercial decorations. The jewelry store’s front window was dominated by a glacial scene that had sparkling rings and earrings pinned into the fake waterfall. Next to it, a shop that sold office supplies had set up a huge pile of brightly wrapped gifts, with a few open at the front to display the latest gadgets you could find inside. Every window was rimmed in lights, and on a cloudy day like today they gave off a cheerful glow that looked like something straight out of a holiday movie.

      Across the width of the street, volunteers had strung the lighted garlands and wreaths the same way they’d done for generations. For as long as Jason could remember, when those festive greens went up, he knew Christmas was right around the corner. Even when he’d lived out West, he’d come back home every year, even if it was only for a few days. As he got older, reconnecting with those lifelong memories comforted him, no matter what might have gone wrong for him elsewhere.

      He recognized a few of the people out window-shopping and lifted a hand in greeting before climbing into his truck. Actually, it was one of the mill trucks, older than dirt and held together by rust and a lot of prayers. Paul had gotten it running over the summer and offered it to Jason when he finally broke down and bought a pickup manufactured in this century. To start it, Jason usually needed a screwdriver and a boatload of patience. Since it hadn’t been idle all that long, he took his chances and turned the key. Nothing happened at first, but when he gave it another shot, the engine whined a bit and caught. Pumping the gas pedal, he let the motor settle into the throaty rumble that told him it would keep running long enough for him to get where he was going. Usually.

      As he made his way toward the edge of town, the pavement gave way to gravel, and he turned in by the sign Jenna had made to mark the very first business in town: Barrett’s Sawmill, Est. 1866. He felt a quick jolt of pride, recalling how his older brother, Paul, had left his wandering ways behind and come back to reopen the bankrupt family business. Now a humming custom-furniture manufacturer, they made things by hand the old-fashioned way, in a mill powered by its original waterwheel.

      It was a far cry from the lumber camps Jason had been working at the past couple of years. About half as exciting, he mused as he parked next to Chelsea’s silver convertible, but way safer. Before he’d even closed the driver’s door, baying echoed from behind the mill house, and a huge red bloodhound raced out to meet him.

      “Hey there, Boyd.” He laughed as the dog leaped up to give him the canine version of a high five. “What’s shakin’?”

      The dog barked in reply, letting him go and racing around him in circles all the way up to the front porch. Inside, Jason paused outside the office’s half door and waved in at his newest sister-in-law. “Hey, Chelsea. How’re the numbers looking this week?”

      Beaming, she gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “I love Christmas shoppers. They need things fast, and they’re willing to pay extra for quick delivery.”

      Jason groaned, only half joking. “Sounds like we’re gonna get real busy.”

      “I wouldn’t take up any new hobbies,” Paul advised from the open sliding door that led into the rear of the mill. Wiping grease from his hands on a rag, he went on. “This is supposed to be your last Saturday off till the end of the year. What’re you doing here?”

      “Making a Christmas tree.”

      Chelsea laughed. “Doesn’t God already take care of that?”

      While Jason explained what he was up to, he kept things vague to avoid creating the wrong impression about his situation with Amy. Despite his best efforts, though, Paul’s expression grew increasingly suspicious.

      “Uh-huh.” Dragging it out longer than usual, he folded his arms in disapproval. “Now, how ’bout the truth?”

      “That is the truth,” Jason insisted, as much for himself as his nosy brother. “The lady wants a tree and a nice arch overtop, so I’m making them for her. And for the kids. They’re working hard on their show, and they deserve a big audience. I figured it’s a nice, Christmassy thing to do.”

      “It’s very nice.” With her kitten, Daisy, cradled in her arms, Chelsea came out to back him up. Sending a stern look at her husband, she smiled at Jason. “I’m sure she really appreciates your help.”

      “Don’t encourage him,” Paul cautioned her. “He’s got a weakness for pretty faces and sad stories.”

      “I do not,” Jason protested. Paul raised an eyebrow at him, and he decided it was pointless to argue. “Okay, you’re right, but this time’s different.”

      “How?”

      He didn’t want to lie, but it wasn’t his place to air her personal history, so he hedged, “Amy was advertising for a carpenter to replace Fred, and the job’s easy enough. Everyone else in the family does work for the church or charities this time of year, and I’ve been looking for a way to pitch in somewhere.”

      “You’ve been doing that ever since you moved in with Gram and Granddad.” Paul rested a hand on his shoulder with a proud smile. “His cancer’s getting worse every day, and she needs your help after Mom goes home for the night. We’re all grateful to you for stepping up like that.”

      The praise settled well, and Jason smiled back. “That’s why this project is so great. Working at Amy’s, I’ll be five minutes away if they need me. The show’s the week before Christmas, so my part’ll be over soon enough.”

      “You realize you’re doing an awful lot of work for a woman you met—” Pausing, he chuckled. “When did you meet her, anyway?”

      “This morning, after you and I had breakfast at the Whistlestop. She was decorating out front of the dance place, and since she’s new in town, I went over to say hi.” When Paul leveled one of those big-brother looks at him, Jason let out a frustrated growl. “You’re acting like I proposed or something.”

      “Well...”

      “That was a long time ago,” Jason reminded him, poking him in the chest for emphasis. “I learned my lesson with her, and I’ve got no plans for making that mistake again anytime soon.”

      “I have to ask,” Chelsea interrupted. “Who on earth are you talking about?”

      “Rachel McCarron,” Jason replied with a wry grin. “It didn’t work out.”

      “That little minx took off with your best friend and your truck,” Paul reminded him, as if he’d lost his memory or something. “Oh, and the ring. СКАЧАТЬ