Книга - It’s That Time of Year

It's That Time of Year
Christine Wenger








It’s That Time of Year

Christine Wenger





www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)




Table of Contents


Cover (#ua10881c5-dca6-5dd9-a003-0bbf84a225c6)

Title Page (#ue8ea37f9-0b7f-5086-b9f8-2d3bbfd1c412)

About the Author (#ub1d115a5-0fb7-55fa-a9d7-b275daf7a93c)

Dedication (#ud74123ab-b441-5c89-a4d2-194fb3ce5650)

Chapter One (#u0df9383f-2163-53a6-9a09-98bf138b6429)

Chapter Two (#u824f3c95-2dde-57d9-9f0d-35e19ae1692c)

Chapter Three (#u14f7e6f8-1c6d-591a-8b4a-b50f5aa38915)

Chapter Four (#u28b38df8-fa3d-5587-9916-9f1e8e69ab0b)

Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Twelve (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Thirteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Chapter Fourteen (#litres_trial_promo)

Epilogue (#litres_trial_promo)

Copyright (#litres_trial_promo)


Christine Wenger has worked in the criminal justice field for more years than she cares to remember. She has a master’s degree in probation and parole studies and sociology from Fordham University, but the knowledge gained from such studies certainly has not prepared her for what she loves to do most - write romance! A native central New Yorker, she enjoys watching professional bull riding and rodeo with her favourite cowboy, her husband, Jim.

Chris would love to hear from readers. She can be reached by mail at PO Box 1212, Cicero, NY 13039, USA, or through her website at www.christinewenger.com (http://www.christinewenger.com).


To the dedicated staff and retirees of the Onondaga

County Probation Department in Syracuse, New York.

Thanks for the friendship, the support and the great

ride. Be careful out there!

And to Gayle Callen, outstanding writer and

wonderful friend! Thanks for everything, Gayle!




Chapter One


“When is this going to be over?” Melanie Bennett mumbled to herself as she adjusted her thick woolen mittens. If one more person shook her hand, hugged her or pressed a cold-lipped kiss to her frozen cheeks, she was going to scream.

It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving and the entire population of Hawk’s Lake had turned out for the lighting of the Christmas tree, the traditional kickoff to the annual Snow Festival. This year Melanie and her son, Kyle, would be lighting the tree in her husband’s memory.

She was grateful for everyone’s support, but she didn’t want to talk about Mike anymore. It was too hard trying not to remember.

And she dreaded having to be in such close proximity to Samuel LeDoux, former Canadian hockey star and alleged expert in disaster recovery operatives for the Red Cross.

Unfortunately for her, Mayor Lippert had asked him to be the grand marshal of the Snow Festival. He was the overwhelming favorite, because he’d helped out during the horrific ice storm that had hit upstate New York last winter, and everyone in the village thought Sam LeDoux was a hero.

Everyone except her.

Someone jostled Melanie, and then she in turn bumped into someone else. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a white foam cup flip in the air and hit the ground. When she looked up, she saw wisps of steam rising from a dark stain on the front of the red parka of the attractive man next to her.

“Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I made you drop your coffee.” She pulled off a mitten, found a tissue in the pocket of her jacket and began blotting his parka. He looked down at her in amusement, his blue eyes twinkling.

And immediately she felt drawn to him.

Melanie could barely think. She was busy looking at his strong jaw with a hint of a beard, and the tan that made his teeth look whiter. His lips formed a perfect smile, and she could tell he was in excellent shape in spite of the bulky parka.

She dropped her hand before she wore a hole through him. “Sorry. It’s the mother in me. I’m used to wiping up spills on an hourly basis.” Her face flamed in spite of the freezing temperatures.

“No harm done.” He chuckled. “It’ll dry, and it’ll wash out.” His deep voice, with a hint of an accent, enveloped her like a warm blanket. “Big crowd here, isn’t there?”

“I’ve never seen so many people in Hawk’s Lake at one time. Must be a record.”

The stranger bent over to pick up the cup just as a Boy Scout appeared holding out a trash bag. He tossed it in.

“I’m going to get another cup of coffee,” he said. “Would you like anything?”

“It’s on me,” Melanie shouted, as the six-piece band from Moose Lodge #814 played a much too loud and painfully slow rendition of “Jingle Bells.” The crowd huddled around the white octagonal bandstand burst into song, making it even harder to carry on a conversation. And for whatever reason, she wanted to talk to him more.

She reached into her pocket and pulled out a dollar bill. He shook his head, leaned over and spoke into her ear, “It was nice bumping into you. Maybe I’ll get to talk to you later.”

She nodded, trying to calm her racing heart. The warmth of his breath on her skin made her shiver. She told herself she was only nervous about the upcoming tree lighting, but she knew it was more than that. She wanted to get to know the handsome stranger.

Watching as he walked away, she couldn’t help but notice his butt, encased in snug dark jeans that outlined his muscular legs. She saw him wave to people and then stop to shake hands with others before he disappeared into the gingerbread tent.

How did he know so many people from Hawk’s Lake? She’d lived here all her life and had never seen him before. She’d assumed he was a tourist who had come in for the Snow Festival.

To distract herself, she looked up at the bright stars sparkling in the black winter sky. They looked close enough to touch. When she was a little girl, her mother used to tell her that each star was a light for the people in heaven so they could see their way at night.

She grimaced. If that was true, her late husband Mike was plugged in to the nearest star watching a college football game and scouting for the next sensational player.

Kyle appeared at Melanie’s side. She looked down at him and smiled tenderly. He’d been only five when his father had died in the devastating ice storm that had hit all of upstate NewYork a year ago.

Kyle grinned up at her. “When do we get to light the tree, Mom?”

“Pretty soon.”

Yesterday, she had explained to him that this year’s tree lighting was in honor of his father and it was a special way for the people of Hawk’s Lake to remember him and to thank him for helping out in the storm.

Kyle had simply said, “But we remember him all the time, and Daddy shouldn’t have gone out in bad weather.”

True on both counts.

“I miss him. I’m going to ask Santa Claus to bring him back.” And then Kyle had cried—something he rarely did.

It had been all Melanie could do to keep from crying for her son. How would they ever get through this Christmas with Kyle missing his father so much? Even thinking about it now threatened to bring tears to her eyes.

She was so angry at Mike. And although she still had difficulty remembering all the details of the storm, she knew that she couldn’t bring herself to forgive him. Something was holding her back.

Last year, she’d spent the holidays in a hazy state of shock. Her father had told her that she’d slipped and fallen on the ice, but she only remembered waking up in the emergency room. Later she’d learned that Mike had died while helping to cut trees away from the power station, and that Sam LeDoux, a disaster response expert for the Red Cross, had stepped in to manage the volunteers, as well as the cleanup and recovery effort.

As far as she was concerned, he had done a horrible job of managing the volunteers.

But she had a son to think of, and this year, things would be different. She had to make this Christmas special for Kyle, to show him that it was okay to move on.

Melanie looked around, trying to spot the handsome stranger again, but he was lost in the crowd.

The villagers were holding lighted red candles pushed through holes in the bottom of waxed cups. Others held their children’s hands and swayed with the music as the Moose Lodge Band jauntily played “Rudolph the Red-Nosed Reindeer.” The frosty breath of the crowd hung in the air like smoke.

She figured that the increase in attendance had a little to do with Mike, but it probably had just as much to do with the grand opening of the new Santa Claus House, directly across from the bandstand on the east end of the square.

Santa’s House was her father’s brainstorm. Ed Hawkins had designed the little cottage, and Melanie and her two brothers had built it in their spare time in the back of their garage.

Melanie had painted the house a bright white and the gingerbread trim in Christmas red and forest green. Later, Santa Claus—played by her brother Jack—would sit on the porch of the bright little cabin on a regal chair that used to belong to their Aunt Betty, and listen to the kids’ wishes. Jack loved Santa duty, probably because he was still a kid at heart himself.

But the house was more than a labor of love for all the children in the village to enjoy—it was therapeutic for her, too. With each brush stroke, she’d thought that if not for her family, Kyle wouldn’t have had any Christmas at all.

She shook her head, straightened her shoulders. No more sadness, she reminded herself. It was time to move on, and the first step was to make Christmas a happy time again.

Leading Kyle toward the bandstand, Melanie turned her attention to the bronze statue of her stern great-great-grandfather Ezra Packard Hawkins, standing proudly in the middle of the square. Ezra had founded Hawk’s Lake in 1865, opening a smithy when his horse threw a shoe.

Ezra looked about as happy as she felt.

The chairman of the tree-lighting event took her hand and Kyle’s. They were both shuttled up the steps and onto the bandstand. There she saw the mayor, Calvin Lippert, standing with…him.

The handsome stranger. The man she’d been admiring. That unsettling warmth flooded her veins again.

Mayor Lippert gestured for her to come closer. “Melanie Bennett, I’d like you to meet Sam LeDoux.”

The instant warmth turned into a chill that went right to her bones. This was Sam LeDoux? The man responsible for Mike’s death?

And she’d been attracted to him!

LeDoux raised a black eyebrow. “Melanie Bennett?” He looked just as shocked as she felt.

LeDoux’s gaze met hers and she thought she saw a touch of sympathy in his dark blue eyes. Well, she didn’t want his sympathy. Sympathy wouldn’t bring her son’s father back. Disappointed, she looked away, and then moved to Cal’s other side with Kyle. The whole village would probably shun her for snubbing LeDoux, but she didn’t really care.

As the mayor addressed the crowd, she searched for her family so she wouldn’t have to look at LeDoux.

She spotted Jack with his latest girlfriend clinging to him like a piece of lint. He smiled at Melanie and gave her a thumbs-up for support. Her brother attracted women like this elevation attracted snow, and Melanie had given up trying to remember their names.

Next to Jack was their older brother, Brian. He met her gaze and sent her an encouraging nod. He was the most serious of the Hawkins clan.

Standing next to Brian was her father. He just smiled and winked at her. Ed didn’t do serious very well.

Melanie swallowed the lump in her throat and squeezed Kyle’s hand. They were her family. In good times and in bad, the descendants of old Ezra Packard Hawkins were always there for each other—meddling in one another’s lives, of course.

As Mayor Lippert rambled on, she couldn’t help but steal a glance at Sam LeDoux. He was looking at her again. She frowned. He arched a perfect black eyebrow.

She hated that she found him attractive, with his pitch-black hair and blue eyes and the masculine way he stood with his hands in the pocket of his jeans. His now coffee stained coat was open, as if the cold didn’t even bother him.

He brought her conflicted feelings to the surface—anger, hurt, loneliness and more than a little guilt. Feelings she’d successfully buried for a year.

She shivered in the frigid mountain air when she caught a bit of Cal’s speech. “Mike Bennett was a good father and a good neighbor, and could always be counted on to do the right thing.”

The right thing.

She and Mike had married when she’d become pregnant with Kyle. It had seemed right at the time. Their brief marriage had been comfortable for the most part, but in truth they’d both been far from content.

She heard Mayor Lippert’s voice grow louder. “Now, ladies and gentlemen, without further ado, please give a warm Hawk’s Lake welcome to the grand marshal of our Snow Festival, Mr. Samuel LeDoux. Let’s hear it for Sam!”

A cheer went up from the crowd as Cal handed LeDoux the microphone. Sam looked at it for a moment as if deciding what to do. The crowd grew silent. Melanie’s stomach churned. She didn’t want to hear a thing he had to say.

“Thank you for inviting me to this wonderful event. I’m honored to be here.” His voice was deep and it vibrated clear down to her toes. “But I have to disagree with Mayor Lippert. I am not a hero. Mike Bennett was the hero that day.”

LeDoux handed the microphone back to the mayor as the crowd applauded.

Cal passed Melanie the microphone, and she tried to protest, but he wouldn’t hear of it. Her mind went blank for what seemed like an eternity, and then she tried to find the words, the right words.

She wouldn’t say what she wanted to LeDoux. She wouldn’t ruin this event for everyone, especially Kyle.

Melanie took a deep breath. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming and remembering Mike. Kyle and I appreciate your support.” Her voice was quivering, and she swept her red mittens across her cheeks to wipe away her tears. “Thank you so much. Merry Christmas!”

The mayor guided the three of them to a redribboned pillar. On the pillar was a metal button that, she assumed, would light the tree.

Melanie positioned Kyle between herself and Samuel LeDoux.

As the Hawk’s Lake High School marching band struck up “O Christmas Tree,” Marylou Lang from the Adirondack Sentinel approached the bandstand, gesturing for the three of them to pose with the mayor for a picture. Then she wanted more pictures of Melanie, Kyle and Sam with their hands poised above the light switch.

“Closer.” Marylou waved her hand as she looked through her camera. “No. That won’t do. Closer. Melanie, take your mittens off and all of you put your hands on top of one another’s on the button.”

Kyle’s hand already hovered over the button. Melanie yanked her mitten off, pasted a smile on her face, and placed her hand over Kyle’s.

Her heart did a little flip as LeDoux’s warm hand closed over hers. He was too close. His aftershave drifted around her, a light cloud of spice and pine. Her mouth suddenly went dry. She didn’t want to feel the warmth of his hand, and she didn’t want to see his frosty breath mingle with hers.

She wanted him out of Hawk’s Lake.

Take the picture, Marylou.

In the background, the village counted down.

“Four…three…two…one…”

“Wow!” Kyle shouted as they all clamped down on the switch. Hundreds of bright colored lights illuminated the huge Douglas fir as the crowd cheered.

All Melanie could think of was getting away from there. Away from her thoughts. Away from Sam LeDoux, and this awareness of him that she couldn’t tamp into submission.

Melanie slipped her hand back into her mitten. In less than five seconds, shewas down the steps of the bandstand and heading for her car with her son in tow.

“Mrs. Bennett, please wait!”

It was LeDoux. Oh, why couldn’t he have stayed in Canada?

“Mom! Wait! I have to talk to Santa!”

It was finally Kyle’s voice that penetrated the red haze in her mind. What was she doing?

She hunkered down in front of Kyle. His eyes were wide and his nose red from the cold. “Okay, honey. We’ll go and see Santa.”

He relaxed and she stood up. Walking toward them was her brother Brian, looking puzzled. Sam LeDoux had stopped beside her, still too close for comfort.

“I was wondering why you were leaving so quickly when Santa’s coming to town,” Brian said to her. Turning toward LeDoux, Brian held out his hand. “Good to see you again, Sam.”

“Same here, Brian.”

They shook hands, and Brian looked from Melanie to Sam and back again. Brian must have noticed the tension between them, because he gave a slight smile.

She could handle LeDoux herself, darn it. Besides, after they’d all worked with him last year, her whole family sang his praises, Brian included, so they weren’t likely to agree with her feelings. She’d just keep silent and let her negative thoughts churn inside her.

Grand marshal or not, she wanted him gone. He was a reminder of her past, when she just wanted to focus on the future.

She smiled at Kyle. “Sweetie, how about if Uncle Brian takes you for some cocoa and cookies at the gingerbread tent? Then we’ll get in line to see Santa.” She turned to her brother. “Would you mind?”

“Not at all.”

“Cool,” said Kyle. Brian led him away, leaving Melanie alone with LeDoux.

Suddenly, she wanted to run as far away as her clunky boots would take her. He was too big, too real, making her think of him in ways she didn’t want to.

“Could we talk for a minute?” he asked.

Her voice shook. “I’m sorry, Mr. LeDoux, I’d rather not.”

“But I—”

“No. There isn’t anything for us to talk about, and it’s been quite an emotional night already.” The words hung in the air between them like icicles. “Goodbye, Mr. LeDoux.”




Chapter Two


“Wait! Mrs. Bennett…Melanie.” Sam jogged after her. He didn’t want to scare her. She already looked at him as if he carried some contagious disease.

She turned toward him, fire in her eyes. Her blond hair did a soft dance in the winter breeze. Her cheeks had a flush of color, either from the cold or from anger—most likely both.

The evening had started out so nicely when they’d first met, he’d seen the interest in her eyes, and he had felt the same awareness of her. Then the interest faded when she’d heard his name.

Sam knew darn well that everyone in Hawk’s Lake thought he was a hero—except Melanie Bennett. Well, he didn’t think so, either. He wanted to forget the past just as badly as she did.

But the only way he could forget the past—and himself—was to discuss it, and she didn’t want to do that.

“I’d like to somehow start over with you,” Sam said.

“Unless you can turn back the clock, that’s not possible. Just enjoy being Hawk’s Lake’s hero.”

He shook his head. “I’m not a hero. I was only doing my job.”

“Well, you didn’t do it very well, did you?”

Her words—and the pain in her voice—pierced his heart. Sam wished she’d at least let him apologize, let him explain. But how could he do that without casting a shadow over the memory of her husband?

Damn the timing of that ice storm. Another place, another time, and Sam would never have known that the Bennetts even existed. He would have simply answered the call from the Red Cross and hopped on a plane, ready for action.

Instead, last year he had flown in for the christening of Cal Lippert’s son, so he was already in tiny Hawk’s Lake in the middle of the Adirondack Mountains when the Red Cross called. As it turned out, he was in the perfect place to help.

That ice storm had changed his life forever.

Melanie glanced toward the crowded gingerbread tent as Sam fought the urge to grab her hand and escort her to some private place where she could yell at him until she was exhausted.

There wasn’t anything that she could say to him that he hadn’t already told himself.

But if it was all out in the open, maybe then he could find some peace.

He tried again. “Would you mind if we went somewhere private to talk?”

“My son wants to see Santa.” She turned and walked away without a goodbye.

He didn’t try to stop her this time.

With a sigh, he tried to focus on the moment, on the sights and sounds of the celebration around him. But all too soon the memories would surface again, knotting his stomach, and he’d question his judgment once again.

He couldn’t direct a crew or manage an operation when he couldn’t trust his instincts. It was too dangerous. Not for him, but for the volunteers—brave men and women who trusted him, who put their lives into his hands.

Hands that now shook with hesitation and indecision.

If he was honest with himself, Sam didn’t know what he could accomplish by talking to Melanie. Maybe he wanted her forgiveness for his damn stupid mistake so he could function as a manager again.

Maybe then he’d get the peace he craved.

Sam felt like a fraud. When he had received the invitation a month ago, he’d phoned his old hockey buddy Cal Lippert and insisted that he had no right to light the Hawk’s Lake Christmas tree, or to be their grand marshal for the three weeks of the Snow Festival.

“The hell you don’t, Sam,” Cal had said. “The whole town was grateful that the best emergency relief manager in the Red Cross was right here when that storm hit. We’d probably still be trying to bail out if it wasn’t for you.”

“A man died, Cal. I should have told Mike Bennett to get out of that tree earlier. Matter of fact, I never should have let him get up there in the first place.”

“Things happen.”

“Not on my watch.”

“Yes, Sam, even on your watch. No one blames you.”

Cal wouldn’t take no for an answer, so here he was in Hawk’s Lake. Again.

But returning to Hawk’s Lakewas a good opportunity to meet Melanie, apologize, and make sure that she and Kyle were doing okay after losing Mike.

Last year, he hadn’t had the opportunity. He’d been in the hospital recovering from hypothermia. After he was discharged and wanted to call on her, her father, Ed, had told him that Melanie had suffered a concussion along with some amnesia and that her doctor had told everyone to wait for her memory to return before discussing the traumatic events.

But he’d had to leave soon after and never did get to see her or Kyle. Other disasters—fires, floods—had beckoned.

Sam leaned against a thick maple tree and watched Melanie and Kyle in the line waiting for Santa. They seemed like they were doing okay, considering everything. They were smiling and laughing at a man dressed in a reindeer costume juggling candy canes. The juggler lost more than he could keep in the air and eventually resorted to just handing them out.

Older children wearing angel costumes over their snowsuits were passing out cookies and ribbon candy.

Hawk’s Lake was a wonderful place. It reminded Sam of the small Canadian town where he’d grown up. On the north shore of Lake Ontario, Lenore had once been a quiet, beautiful town where everyone knew everyone else.

But everything changed—even little Lenore.

“Enjoying yourself?”

Sam took the cup of coffee that Cal handed him, grateful that his friend seemed content to make small talk. As soon as he drained the last drop, a tiny, curly-haired girl dressed as an angel appeared to take his cup and offer him some cookies. He chose a frosted one in the shape of a Christmas tree and bit the star off the top.

“Delicious,” he told the little girl. “Thank you, angel.”

“Great family event,” Cal said, taking a cookie in the shape of a bell.

“The kids are enjoying themselves,” Sam added.

Cal nodded. “The new Santa House adds a nice touch to the village square this year,” boasted the proud mayor, gesturing at all the people standing in line to visit Santa.

Sam nodded to the leggy blonde in a tight red sweater and skimpy red skirt with white fur trim who was hovering close to Santa. “I think Mrs. Claus is adding the best touch.”

The two of them laughed, and it felt good to relax and just enjoy the night. Later, after Cal left to join the crowd at the gingerbread tent, Sam’s attention turned back toward Melanie, standing in line with her son waiting to see Santa. Right now, She was smiling, but the tightness at the corners of her mouth indicated to him that she was trying too hard. Only when she was talking to her son did she seem truly happy.

Doug Stanley, the owner of the Pine Tree Motel where Sam had booked a room, had told him that Melanie was beginning to receive national attention for her antique car restoration business and was “no slouch” as a mechanic, either. Doug said she could tell what was wrong with a car just by listening to it run. And if it wasn’t running, she could tell you why not in five minutes flat.

Now that was talent, and very rare in a woman, but Sam could already see that she was no ordinary woman, and a great mother, too.

Little Kyle was lucky to grow up in a place like this. A place where his grandfather stood nearby, eyes shimmering with love for his grandson. A place where a little boy could hear his mother laugh as he lobbed snowballs at her.

Maybe it would make up for the fact that Kyle didn’t have a father.

A familiar heaviness tightened Sam’s chest. It was his fault that Kyle didn’t have a father.

Sam moved closer to Santa’s House when he noticed that Kyle was next in line and couldn’t help overhear his conversation.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa said. “What’s your name, young man?”

“Kyle. Kyle Bennett.” The child threw a leg over Santa’s and pulled himself into the big man’s lap.

He looked so small and innocent, and Sam was glad that Kyle still believed in Santa Claus and the magic of Christmas.

“And what would you like for Christmas, Kyle?” Santa asked.

“I want my daddy back.”

A sudden hush descended over the crowd. Santa didn’t move, but Melanie took her son’s hand and held it. Everyone waited to see what would happen next.

Kyle’s words were a sucker punch to Sam’s gut. He couldn’t take in enough air, could barely think.

The boy pulled on the fur trim of Santa’s collar. “Santa? Did you hear me?”

Santa glanced at Melanie.

“That’s not possible, sweetie.” Melanie cupped Kyle’s cheek. “We talked about this before. Daddy is in heaven and—”

“I know, but I want him to come back.”

“But you know that can’t be,” Melanie said softly. “Won’t you tell Santa what toy you’d like for Christmas?”

Santa rubbed Kyle’s back. “Santa knows that your father is in heaven watching out for you. He can see what a fine boy you are.”

Kyle frowned and shook his head.

“I want him down here, not up there.”

“Your daddy knows how much you like to play hockey. Would you like Santa to bring you a new hockey stick?” Santa asked hopefully.

“Okay,” Kyle said quietly, shrugging his shoulders.

Sam sighed. He’d rather be anywhere except here, listening to a little boy asking Santa to bring his father back. He’d hoped this trip would resolve some issues, restore his confidence so he could do his job. Instead, he now had two more faces he’d never be able to forget.

“What’s your favorite hockey team, Kyle?” Santa asked. “The Ducks?”

“The Ducks are weenies. I like the Canucks.”

Sam laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The boy’s innocent honesty was unexpected and a welcome relief from the serious mood.

Melanie whirled toward him, her eyes narrowed. She left Kyle with Santa and grabbed Sam by the arm, pulling him away from the crowd.

“Mr. LeDoux, I’m glad you think this is all so funny.”

He could see fire in Melanie’s emerald eyes by the glow of the Christmas lights on the trees overhead. Snowflakes clung to her eyelashes and her gold-blond hair.He liked this protective side of her.

“Mrs. Bennett, you misunderstand,” he said softly, wishing he could brush the snow from her hair. “I’m Canadian, and I used to play for the Canucks.”

She looked startled, and he thought a blush touched her cheeks. Looking down, she must have seen that her hand was still on his arm. She snatched it away, and he missed that simple contact between them.

“Melanie,” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Forgiveness. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

He blinked in surprise. She was right. He wanted forgiveness. Peace of mind. Absolution. Whatever she wanted to call it.

“I’m not sure that I can give you what you want. I’m just not ready.” She looked into his eyes, and he thought he saw a glint of regret. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “I’ll wait.”

“I don’t know when—”

“I’ll be in town for a while, doing whatever it is a grand marshal does. When you want to talk, give me a yell. I’ll be the one with the crown and scepter.”

He could have sworn a slight smile touched Melanie’s lips before she walked away.




Chapter Three


The next day, Melanie reached for the rag in the pocket of her coveralls and wiped a damaged piece of the doorjamb on a four-door, 1929 Franklin dualcowl Phaeton. Studying the damaged car part, she knew that it was made from wood and not metal. It was commonly made from ash, and she knew she’d have to cut a new one herself. Luckily, she had just the right board in the storage room.

She’d been working on the Phaeton for a collector for the past eight months. It was one of about five or six left in the world, and she was trying to talk him into donating the vehicle to a museum. She believed that everyone should have a chance to appreciate a classic car like the Phaeton.

It was good to think about her work, rather than the turmoil of her life.

She rubbed her hands together to warm them in the cold garage. Although the four industrial heaters hanging from each corner of the ceiling were turned on high, it wasn’t enough to penetrate through all the layers of clothing she wore to warm her bones. Her fingers were like icicles.

Glancing out the window in the big doors of the bay, she saw it was snowing outside—big, fluffy flakes. The picture-perfect snow was a reminder of the picture-perfect Christmas she wanted to give Kyle.

Tonight, someone else would again dress as Santa and read The Grinch Who Stole Christmas at the public library. Tomorrow, there’d be a snowman-making contest back at the town square. After that, a peewee hockey game at Tucker’s Pond, complete with bonfire, then a free skate and a craft sale. Events were scheduled for nearly every day throughout the next three weeks, and she and Kyle would be attending or participating in all of them.

Soon, she and Kyle would cut their own tree and bring it home and decorate it. They’d go caroling with the church choir and do some Christmas shopping together. They might be small steps to take, but they were important to her—and hopefully special for Kyle. In the meantime, though, it was business as usual.

As she removed the rest of the doorjamb from the car, Melanie heard voices in the office. She assumed it was her father coming in to have some coffee and talk. Since his “retirement” from Hawk’s Garage, he hadn’t missed a day. Jack was probably with him, anxious to get to work on one of his race cars. Then again, maybe it was Brian, ready to work on one of his endless spreadsheets or to hunt down some parts for her on the Internet.

She looked at the office and saw her father and her two brothers waving and grinning from behind the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that separated the office from the garage.

Coffee and doughnuts, a little gossip with whoever stopped in, then work. That was the usual routine at Hawk’s Garage, built on the site of Ezra Packard Hawkins’s smithy. In time, Ezra’s sons had turned it into a carriage-repair business and called itHawkins Livery. With the invention of the automobile, the business was renamed Hawk’s Garage and transformed into a gas station and auto-repair business.

Melanie’s father had added another wing to the garage for classic car restoration and their race-car division. Jack kept the division purposely small, preferring to be very selective in the projects he undertook. Melanie had taken a shine to the intricacies of making antique cars new again, although she still liked to keep her mechanical skills up-to-date in the main repairs and maintenance garage when she had the time.

Brian was less mechanically inclined. Armed with his MBA, he handled the business end and was in charge of finances. Their dad freelanced whenever the spirit moved him.

Melanie always felt secure and loved just knowing that her family was around her. They were her strength, her lifeline. Sure, they worried about her too much and they were overprotective, but she loved them for their support and caring, especially after Mike died.

Melanie sighed. Since last night, she couldn’t stop thinking about Sam LeDoux. Her entire family liked him—and so did everyone else in Hawk’s Lake. What did they know that she didn’t? Was she wrong not to hear him out?

Maybe that would make him feel better, but not her.

She’d always tried to keep her pain to herself. As a kid, she hadn’t had any girlfriends—they couldn’t understand why she’d rather rebuild an engine than chase boys. Her brothers were always hell-bent on teasing her, so they’d be the last two on earth she’d ever confide in. Nor could she talk to her mom, who’d had health issues, and her father had enough worries between her mother being sick and the garage.

So little by little, she’d built a wall around herself—a wall that had become thicker and taller since her marriage.

Lately, she was starting to see the defects in that wall, hairline cracks that continued to grow until it was threatening to fall down around her, leaving her defenses exposed for what they were—lies, halftruths and face-saving devices.

The real truth was that Melanie was afraid of what she might see if she looked inside herself—and too deep into her marriage. There was an empty void in her mind the night of the ice storm. She knew something had happened that night that she couldn’t—or didn’t want to—remember.

Melanie sighed. It’d be so much easier to continue to blame Sam LeDoux than to try and see through the gauzy recesses of her mind.

Tossing and turning all night, she’d thought about the tree lighting and how she’d reacted when she’d found out who he was. She’d become a different woman from the one who had nearly flirted with him earlier—and she didn’t like that side of herself. After all, Sam had only wanted to explain what had happened that fateful night—and she’d shut him down.

It had been easier to dislike him when she hadn’t yet met him, and hadn’t seen the pain in his eyes, an ache so similar to her own.

Did that make her a horrible person?

She found the piece of wood she’d been looking for and walked back into the garage. Another noise signaled that she wasn’t alone. Instead, there was Sam LeDoux himself, leaning against the wall of the garage, wearing a black leather bomber jacket and snug, faded jeans. To her utter mortification, something inside her sizzled.

Why was she so aware of every little detail about him?

“Hello, Melanie. I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

She turned her attention back to the doorjamb, trying to calm the flickers in her belly caused by his deep, sexy voice. “You are.”

Ignoring her response, he asked, “How did you become involved in fixing up antique cars?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. I guess I always liked restoring things to their original state—especially old things. My aunt Betty got me into restoring antique furniture first, and cars came next.”

Why was she telling him all this? She focused on the wood in her hands, preparing it for the jigsaw.

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re so successful at it.” He shifted on his feet, and Melanie figured that he had run out of things to say. “Listen, could I buy you a cup of coffee when you’re done?”

She moved her safety goggles into place and flipped the switch on the jig. It roared to life. Sam stood with his hands in his jacket, awaiting her answer. Couldn’t he take a hint?

“I already had coffee,” she finally said over the noise of the saw.

“Okay. Then how about dinner tonight?”

He couldn’t possibly be asking me out, she thought.

She shut off the jig and studied her cut. Perfect. “As you can see, I’m busy.”

“What about the tomorrow night?”

“Busy.”

To avoid looking at him, Melanie walked down to the other side of the car and inspected the grill. She already knew there was nothing wrong with it, but she measured it just for something to do.

As Sam walked toward her, Melanie felt heat rising in her blood. She told herself that it was anger, nothing more. It certainly wasn’t because he was so handsome and she could smell his outdoorsy scent. His friendly smile made her think of his sensuous lips.

Darn it. What was wrong with her?

The sound of his saddle-colored cowboy boots came even closer as he walked across the concrete floor. Unable to help herself, she looked up and saw that his black hair was windblown and damp from the snow.

A telltale blush crept up her neck and settled on her cheeks.

She waited until her father and brother were bent over the engine of Jack’s race car and out of hearing range before she spoke. “What do you want, Sam?”

In the overhead lights, his eyes were like the color of Hawk’s Lake in the summer.

“To talk.”

Melanie could feel him standing behind her, so she went back around to the other side of the car to get away from him.

He huffed out a breath, clearly frustrated by her refusal. “Look, I spoke with Cal. Since my presence is clearly making things uncomfortable for you, I tried to get out of being the grand marshal, but he said that they couldn’t get a replacement at this point.” He shrugged. “I just want you to know that I tried.”

Melanie froze. He’d actually tried to get out of being the grand marshal—for her? That was considerate of him. Maybe she was being too selfish.

Emotions were churning inside her, giving her a pounding headache. A nagging voice inside her chastised her for being unfair. Maybe listening to him would help her put the past to rest and make it easier for her to have a good Christmas with Kyle.

She sighed. “Okay, Sam…I’ll have dinner with you. Tomorrow night.”

He smiled. “Shall I pick you up? Seven o’clock?”

She shook her head. “I’ll meet you at Momma Luigi’s. It’s on Main Street.”

“I’ll find it,” he said. “It’s a date.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, ignoring the flush of pleasure that heated her face. “It’s just dinner.”

Sam found himself whistling as he drove back to the Pine Tree Motel in Jack Hawkins’s big white pickup, which he’d borrowed for the length of his stay.

He liked both Melanie’s brothers, and her father, too. He’d gotten to know them fairly well last year after the ice storm. They were hard workers, friendly and personable.

But he was attracted to Melanie—he couldn’t deny it. In fact, it was one of the reasons he agreed to return to Hawk’s Lake.

What had made Melanie decide to have dinner with him? Sam figured he’d just worn her down and she was sick of him asking. He could be tenacious when he wanted to be—really tenacious.

She looked sexy in her navy blue mechanic’s jumpsuit. It clung to all her curves. Her emerald eyes looked even bigger and greener through the safety goggles she was wearing.

And she’d finally agreed to hear him out—and for the first time in months, he felt a lightness inside his chest.

Later that evening, the snow was still falling in big feathery flakes as Melanie pulled her forestgreen Blazer into the parking lot across the street from the Hawk’s Lake Public Library.

She smiled down at her son. “We’re here.”

“Cool,” Kyle said, grinning. “I can’t wait to talk to Santa.”

“Santa’s only reading The Grinch today. You already talked to Santa last night.” She got out and opened the passenger door for Kyle, who quickly scrambled out of the Blazer.

“Hold it, mister,” she said. “It’s twenty degrees out.”

She pulled his hat down around his ears, gathered the hood of his parka onto his head and snapped it under his chin. With his sweet face framed in a circle, he looked like a little angel. She took his mittened hand in hers and walked to the street to wait for one of the town’s four snowplows to go by.

Pretty soonKylewouldn’t believe in Santa or the magic of Christmas. Soon he’d be too grown-up to take her hand to cross the street. She sighed. Funny, she thought, how time could be a friend or an enemy.

As they were about to cross, a big white pickup truck ground to a slow, sputtering halt before them. It was driven by…Santa Claus.

Kyle squealed. “It’s Santa, Mom! It’s Santa! What’s he doing in Uncle Jack’s truck?”

Santa got out of the truck, and it looked like he was about to let loose with an expletive before he saw them standing there. Familiar blue eyes met hers above the white beard.

Santa shifted on his feet, looking down. “Um…ho, ho, ho!” he said weakly. “Um…my reindeer are resting and my sleigh is being loaded by my elves, so a nice man by the name of Jack Hawkins let me use his…uh…sleigh on wheels. But there seems to be something wrong with it.”

Melanie knew that voice. That deep, resonating voice. It seemed to melt her bones every time she heard it.

Sam LeDoux.

“Santa, my mom can fix it,” Kyle said, eyes wide, looking up at the big man. “My grandpa says she’s the best car fixer in the whole world.” He swiveled to look at her. “You can fix it, right, Mom?”

“Um…yes…of course, I’ll take a look under the hood, honey.” She walked Kyle to a nearby bench and brushed the snow from it. “You sit right there and don’t move. There are a lot of cars driving into the library lot and it’s dark. This’ll only take a second.”

“Okay.” Kyle watched her with excitement glowing on his face, like his mom helping Santa Claus was the best thing that had ever happened.

Walking back to the truck, she flipped the lever and bent over to look under the hood as Santa—Sam—stood next to her. Their shoulders brushed as they stood side by side looking at the engine.

“Why are you playing Santa?” she said through gritted teeth.

He looked down at her and grinned. “The scheduled Santa had to work overtime at the paper mill, so I got roped into it by Cal.”

“I see.”

Two days in Hawk’s Lake and Sam had been roped into playing Santa. By his own admission, he had at least a dozen bigger events to attend, yet he’d come for the kids. She had to admit he wasn’t quite the bad guy she’d made him out to be…

“I’m not sure that I’ll be a very good Santa,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Any advice for a rookie?”

As she looked up into those twinkling eyes, she had to laugh. “Just be natural and do a lot of ho-ho-ho-ing. And by the way, Jack’s truck needs a new alternator.”

“You can tell that right off?” He sounded impressed.

“I could tell by the sound when you pulled in,” she said confidently. “I’ll call my cousin Ronnie at the garage to send a tow.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why Jack loaned you this truck. He knew the alternator was going. Ronnie will fix it tonight.”

She closed the hood, then turned a critical eye to Sam’s outfit.

“Sam, your beard and your…stomach…are a bit off center. You should fix them.”

“I’ve tried, but I can’t seem to get them straight.”

It was dark behind the truck, and he was standing much too close to her, but Melanie couldn’t let the kids see Sam in his disheveled state.

She hurriedly moved his beard to the left, so the mustache was positioned correctly around his lips—his perfect lips. Glancing down to his stomach, she centered the pillows in the middle of his body.

She could smell peppermint on his breath and pine-scented cologne. His eyes were no longer full of amusement, but seemed to watch her with a very different kind of intensity.

“There,” she said, embarrassed by her husky voice. “Much better.”

“Thank you,” he said, but he didn’t back up. She couldn’t stop looking at his eyes, glittering in the moonlight. What secrets were hidden behind those blue depths?

She shook her head and reminded herself that she didn’t want to know him well enough to find out.

Melanie stepped back, found her cell phone in her purse, motioned for Kyle to join them, and called cousin Ronnie at the garage. She put in the order for a tow while Sam got a red sack out of the front seat of the truck.

“Santa’s reading How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” Sam said to Kyle in his Santa voice. He looked at Melanie and cleared his throat. “Ho, ho, ho.”

“I know,” Kyle said, looking up in awe. “It’s my favorite.”

Melanie listened to the snow crunching under their boots. She’d rather be digging a tunnel through a glacier with a spoon than be in the same room with Sam LeDoux. He made her feel things she didn’t want to feel—but she couldn’t disappoint her son.

“I’ll show you the way, Santa,” Kyle said.

“Ho, ho, ho! That’s a good boy.”

Kyle seemed to be growing taller as he led Sam into the library. The children squealed in glee when they saw Santa, and Sam eventually relaxed and played the part enthusiastically.

Melanie took a chair at the side of the room while he motioned for the children to gather around him on the floor. Then he read The Grinch to the packed room of kids, parents and library staff.

He seemed like he was having the time of his life, Melanie thought. Every kid stared up at him mesmerized. His deep, resonant voice echoed through the hushed library, and his Grinch voice was sufficiently creepy.

The children stared up at him, caught up in the fantasy of Christmas in the happy hamlet of Whoville.

Melanie watched as a tiny girl inched closer and closer until she was touching Sam’s knee. He absentmindedly pulled her into his lap, tucking her halo of dark curls into the crook of one arm. She looked up at him, transfixed by every word.

Melanie was transfixed, too. Could a man who played Santa so naturally be all that bad?

The story ended and Santa received a round of applause and cheers. He motioned to Kyle to come forward. “Kyle, would you like to help Santa pass out candy canes?”

Kyle nodded so enthusiastically she thought he was going to fall over. With pride, Melanie watched as her son carefully handed each person a candy cane and politely answered, “You’re welcome” to every “Thank you.”

The library emptied out, except for one mother and a little towheaded girl. The girl stood next to Kyle watching the fish swim in an aquarium in the corner of the room.

Melanie heard the woman tell Sam that they were staying nearby at the Mountain Lake Lodge on Blue Lake. She explained that they were rebuilding their home after an electrical fire, but construction was moving slowly due to the snow and frozen ground.

“Would you mind if my daughter, Emily, talked to you for a minute?” she asked Sam, hope etched into her face. “She’s still upset about the fire.”

Melanie’s heart squeezed as Sam said, “Of course.”

The woman went to get Emily. The girl seemed painfully shy, barely looking at Santa. She clutched the hem of her mother’s jacket in a death grip. But when Sam patted his knee, the girl scrambled up into his lap. So much for her shyness.

“And what is your name?”

“Emily Farley. I’m seven years old.”

“Have you been a good girl, Emily?”

Emily’s eyes grew wide, and she looked to her mother for affirmation. Her mother nodded. “Yes.”

Sam took her hand and held it. “Santa knows that you had a fire at your house. That must have scared you.”

Tears glistened in Emily’s eyes as she nodded, and Melanie’s heart ached for the little girl.

He patted her head. “Santa knows you were very brave,” Sam said gently. “Your house will be ready soon. And it’ll be nice and special and all new just for you.” Sam held up a tissue. “Close your eyes.”

Emily closed her eyes, and Sam blotted them carefully with a tissue. “Now smile for Santa.”

The child’s grin lit up like lights on a tree.

Melanie smiled. Sam had handled the situation perfectly. Melanie warmed up to him a little more.

Sam smoothed back the little girl’s hair. “Emily, since you’ve been such a good girl, what would you like for Christmas?”

“A Katie Ann doll and the Katie Ann town house. And some clothes for Katie Ann. And Katie Ann’s boat and trailer, too.”

Emily’s mother took her little hand. “Sweetheart, I’m sure Santa will do what he can.” As her words faded she looked away, wiping her eyes.

Sam held the little girl’s chin in a gloved hand. “Santa always tries to make Christmas wishes come true. Now, why don’t you ask Kyle to give you another candy cane.”

Emily’s mother shook her head and sniffed. It was obvious that she couldn’t afford all those toys.

Sam took her arm and moved her away from Kyle and Emily, who were peeling candy canes and chattering like long-lost pals.

“Mrs. Farley.” Sam handed her a tissue and winked. “There’s no crying on Grinch night.”

The woman chuckled and wiped her eyes. “It’s just…it’s been so hard since the fire, and I want to give Emily an especially nice Christmas.”

Melanie’s stomach churned. She knew exactly how Mrs. Farley felt.

“Have faith, Mrs. Farley,” Sam said. “As I told Emily, Santa always tries to make Christmas wishes come true. That means yours, too.”

Mrs. Farley was smiling as she turned and walked over to Emily. Sam LeDoux had put that smile on her face with his encouraging words.

Melanie wiped at her own eyes with the tail of her red wool scarf, horrified when he looked her way.

He gave her a wink and a smile, and she found herself smiling back, lost once more in his twinkling blue eyes.

When was she going to come to her senses and realize that Sam LeDoux wasn’t really Santa Claus? There was no way he could make things better for her. There were no magic words he could say, nothing he could do to bringKyle’s father back.

Sure, she was starting to like some things about him, but what did that matter? Her “best Christmas ever” plan didn’t include Sam LeDoux. She needed to focus on that goal and not let him distract her.

Sam looked at her with a smile that made her heart race—a smile that was far too sexy for Santa Claus. And Melanie knew that for better or worse, she was already distracted.




Chapter Four


“Melanie, would you mind giving me a lift to Hawk’s Garage?” Sam asked. “Maybe my sleigh on wheels is repaired.”

Before she could reply, Kyle answered for her. “Sure, Santa!”

As soon as they climbed into the car Melanie knew it was a mistake to put Sam in the front seat next to her. He was too close, intruding on her senses.

Kyle took no notice of her discomfort. He was giddy that Santa was riding in his mother’s car and kept up a steady stream of chatter about everything and anything. Sam laughed a lot, staying in character all the while. He was clearly enjoying Kyle’s excitement.

Melanie let herself relax a bit, as much as she could with Sam so close. The lowtimbre of his voice was masculine and every so often she’d catch a unique pronunciation of a word—traces of his French accent coming through. The white beard around his face contrasted with his tanned skin. Maybe his latest disaster had taken him to a tropical island.

Preoccupied by her evaluations, she almost ran a stop sign.

She hit her brakes and they skidded on the snowcovered mountain road. “Oops.”

“Careful—it’s slick out here,” Sam said.

Her heart beat wildly. She assumed that it was due to the close call on the icy road instead of Sam’s sexy accent.

“Why do you talk that way, Santa Claus?” Kyle asked.

“You mean my accent? It’s French. You see, Kyle, Santa knows other languages, like French, because he travels all over the world.”

Nice recovery. Sam could sure think on his feet.

“Hey, Santa, will you say something in French?” Kyle asked.

“Joyeux Noël. That means Merry Christmas.”

“Noo-ell.” Kyle giggled.

Melanie had to smile as Sam spent the next few miles teaching Kyle a couple of lines from a French Christmas carol, and in spite of Melanie’s resolve to dislike anything and everything about Sam, she found herself laughing and enjoying his interaction with her son.

Finally, she made the turn into Hawk’s Garage and saw her father walking out of the office. She rolled her window down.

“Hi, Dad.”

“Hello, Mel.”

“Hi, Grandpa!” Kyle piped up.

“How are you doing, tiger?” With a big grin, Ed pointed to the front seat. “Is that who I think it is?”

“It’s Santa Claus, Grandpa!”

“Ho, ho, ho!” Sam added helpfully.

“Well, Mr. Claus, your truck is all ready,” Ed said. “Ronnie is the best and the fastest with alternators.”





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