A Christmas Miracle

All her anxiety had given her a plan for the pages she needed to write tonight, a scene that cried out for the emotion she was fighting so hard not to feel in real life.

She turned in at her driveway, pausing to collect the mail from the black metal box that still bore the dents from an unfortunate mailbox-baseball incident on Halloween. She should replace it, but every little penny...

* * *

ON THURSDAY MORNING, Fleming waited outside Jason’s office, uncertain whether she was more anxious about seeing him or dealing with the loan.

Voices rose loudly inside the office. Instantly concerned that someone else might be attacking Jason, Fleming glanced at Hilda, who grimaced and stared at her phone. “I have 911 on speed dial now,” the woman said.

“I’m sorry you have to. It’s just a bad time of year for this to happen.”

Hilda scrunched up her eyebrows. “But if he’d waited, some people would have lost their homes and businesses.”

“I’m one of them,” Fleming said without thinking.

“What a mess.”

The office door opened and Jason came out, his arm across the shoulders of a man in coveralls. Fred Limber, who owned a tire shop a few blocks from the square.

“So don’t worry. I’ll send you the terms. I don’t see any reason you can’t meet this obligation, Fred, and if you have problems, you get in touch with me.”

“I can’t afford your advice on my business, Jason.”

“My name is on this bank.” Jason wiped his free hand down his leg, as if it were sweating. “I can spare you the time.”

Fleming stood, and both men looked at her. Jason’s gaze, warm with a smile, made her heart seize in a funny, clenching cramp. She smoothed the skirt of her navy shift dress.

He didn’t believe in Santa? With his offers to help the people who were in trouble thanks to Mr. Paige, it was like he was carrying around a big old sack of gifts.

Fred turned and shook Jason’s hand. “Sorry for yelling at you.”

“Sorry for yelling back.”

“I’ll read those papers and talk to my brother. He’s an accountant. Then I’ll set up an appointment with Hilda.”

“Good. We’ll see you then.” Jason walked Fred to the door, and after he shut it, he leaned against the heavy wood for a second. He might pretend to be detached, but clearly, walking away from the problems he was making for people in Bliss was not as easy as he might have thought. He smiled at Fleming, and then rubbed his hand over his mouth. “I know you don’t make coffee, Hilda—”

“No, I don’t.”

“But—”

“Just this once.” She rose from behind her desk. “Want one, Fleming?”

With brandy, for goodness’ sake. “Yes, please.”

“I’ll bring it in.”

Jason went into his office and Fleming followed.

“Where do we start?” he asked.

No need to beat around the bush. “I’m going to save the store.”

“Are you sure?” He took a stack of papers from his desk and then came to the sofa, where she’d already taken the same seat she’d occupied the other day.

“Maybe I can help you, too.” He lifted the first page and glanced toward the doorway. “Like with Fred,” he said.

It seemed clear that he was trying to tell her he didn’t care more for her than he should. She was just another victim of the bank’s bad loan officer.

She knew Jason’s plans. He was leaving town as soon as he finished this unwelcome favor.

“I’m happy to take advice,” Fleming said, purposefully rejecting the idea that it would come straight from him.

“I have a few suggestions.”

“But you won’t be here.” She closed her eyes briefly, determined to fight her own inner demons. Since the day her father had walked out of her life, she’d mistrusted men in authority. And yet let a guy go out of his way to help someone, and she couldn’t restrain herself from being attracted. “And I can’t entirely trust a bank that agrees I can afford their loan.”

“I’m not pretending it will be easy, but maybe we can streamline your processes in the shop to save some overhead. Spend more wisely.”

She lifted her chin. “The shop is still mine. I make the decisions.”

“You have three days to change your mind, Fleming. Don’t let the deadline pass.”

CHAPTER FIVE (#ud9f8e295-b3cb-5612-b5a3-34d995d4522e)

AFTER ENDURING FRED’S shouting and Fleming’s prickly mood, Jason ducked past the registration desk in the hotel that night. It usually took a few weeks for him to get this anxious to leave a work site.

He’d made a mistake. He should have stayed downstairs and asked if he had unexpected company, because a tall, thin woman in a worn dress was waiting beside his door. She blushed and smiled at him, but tears welled in her eyes.

“Mr. Macland?”

“Jason,” he said automatically.

“I’m Rachel Limber.”

“Fred’s wife?” Should he brace for a fight or help her down the stairs?

She held out a Santa-decorated tin. “I make homemade fudge,” she said. “It’s really good, and right now it’s pretty much all we have to offer as a thank-you.”

“Oh.” He took the metal container and shook her hand at the same time. “You didn’t have to go to the trouble.”

“I wanted to. Fred came home hopeful, and for that, I owe you. That old shop of his is mud and oil and nasty smells, but only to me. To him, it’s his favorite place in the whole world. I don’t know what he’d do if he lost it.”

That sounded familiar. Fleming had said the same thing—how many times? “I guess some walls and a place with memories can matter that much, Mrs. Limber.”

“It does to Fred. I was ready to give up and move to Knoxville, but our family’s here.”

Jason smiled. “Remind Fred he can call me or email anytime.”