The Scrooge Of Loon Lake

“To be honest, it took me much longer than I expected to find this place,” she said, gnawing on her bottom lip, calling his attention to it again.

“Maybe that’s the way I like it,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure if she’d been talking to him, her son or herself. He’d been too distracted by that bottom lip.

She set the tin on the workbench next to his tools. “I have to leave, but I warn you, I don’t give up easily, even if you do cloak yourself in that grumpiness like it’s a virtue.”

The boy tugged on her sleeve in another silent plea and she nodded. There was that nonverbal communication again, reminding Des he wasn’t a part of their world. Not that he wanted to be. Nope. Not one little bit.

She took the boy’s hand in hers. “I’ll be in touch,” she said as if it was a threat and headed for the door.

“Wait,” he called and she turned her head to look over her shoulder. He pointed at the tin. “What’s this?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not a bomb,” she said and smiled briefly. “It’s homemade Christmas bark. Even a grinch like you can’t say no to that.”

“What the heck is…?” He glanced up, but she was gone.

Shaking his head, he opened the tin to reveal irregularly shaped bars of white chocolate covered with red and green M&Ms and crushed candy canes. Grabbing one and taking a large bite, he sank back on the stool and thought about the mystery that was Natalie Pierce. What the heck had just happened? Her soft, lilting voice, coupled with that appealing smile, had taunted him and he wanted to know more about her. Her speech was devoid of the flatter, more nasal vowel tones he’d grown accustomed to since moving here. But neither could he peg her as having a Southern drawl. And the kid hadn’t spoken at all, but he’d smiled and made eye contact. Maybe the boy—Sam—was shy. Des shook his head. None of this was his problem, so why was he wasting time on it?

He glanced at the pieces of colorful glass sitting idle on the bench and his fingers itched to create something. He popped the half-eaten piece of candy into his mouth, brushed his palms together and picked up the pliers.

The next morning Des stood and thrust his shoulders back to work out the kinks from sitting hunched over the workbench. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d pulled an all-nighter, but he wasn’t about to leave and have his muse desert him again. He scratched the scruff on his jaw with his fingertips and glanced at the now-empty tin. Huh. As he’d worked last night, he’d munched on her delicious candy. This stained glass window was of the lake during winter when many of the trees were bare. Up close, the lake and trees were individual pieces, but when standing back, those pieces became shades and ripples of the lake water.

A car door slammed and he scowled as his heart kicked up at the thought that the visitor might be Natalie. Uh-oh. Was she back? Who else could it be? Natalie Pierce had been his only visitor in recent memory. He didn’t know whether to be glad or annoyed. He started to rise but his leg and his inner voice protested. Down, Gallagher. You’re not an addict waiting for your dealer.

It was indeed Natalie Pierce and she was holding her son’s hand again. In the other, she carried a plate wrapped in aluminum foil. What did she bring today?

“I told you I’d be back.” She smiled, the crooked tooth peeking out.

He quirked an eyebrow. “So I should take your threats seriously?”

“Maybe you should.” She laughed.

Heat coursed through his veins at the sound. “Are you in the habit of threatening all the men in your life?”

“Is this your way of asking if I’m married?” she asked with a significant lift of her eyebrows.

Yeah, he was about as subtle as a sidewinder missile. He grunted instead of replying.

“I assure you that Sam is the only man in my life.” She showed him her crooked smile. “One thing you need to know about me, Lieutenant. I follow through on my promises.”

“Des.” He’d enjoyed hearing his name yesterday in that musical voice. Liked it a little too much but he’d worry about that later.

“Des,” she repeated and set the plate on a clean corner at the end of the workbench. “I hope you like gingerbread men. They’re quintessential Christmas, don’t you think?”

He grunted, trying not to give her any encouragement, but his stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t had any breakfast yet.

“I used my grandmother’s recipe and her forged tin cookie cutter.” She let go of the boy’s hand and began removing the foil. “They’re fresh, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. Even after a few days, you can warm them in the microwave and they will have that fresh-from-the-oven taste. Sam likes them best that way. Don’t you, Sam?”

She glanced down at the empty space next to her. “Sam?” Her voice rose. “Sam?”

She uttered something under her breath and raced out of the barn. He’d been so fascinated by her mouth as she spoke, he hadn’t noticed the boy’s disappearing act. But then the kid couldn’t have gotten far, and there wasn’t anything nearby that could hurt him. Des grabbed a cookie and followed her as quickly as his bum leg allowed.

Natalie’s heart hammered as she rushed from the barn. She’d never forgive herself if—She choked back a sob. She was overreacting but couldn’t prevent it.

She had no idea Sam was capable of disappearing so fast or so stealthily. He’d overcome many of his balance issues since starting equine-assisted therapy. Another reason she needed to save the program. And as soon as she found him, she’d celebrate his acting like an adventurous five-year-old boy.

She was gasping for air by the time she located him standing next to a sleek, top-of-the-line, black-and-red snowmobile parked on the side of the barn. He must’ve spotted it on their way in. She’d been so consumed with the prospect of seeing Des again and what she was going to say that she hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings. Shame on her.

She didn’t know a lot about snowmobiles, but she guessed this one was expensive. “Sam, honey, don’t touch.”

Not that she could blame Sam for being curious. Weren’t all little boys fascinated by that sort of stuff? A lump in her throat threatened to cut off her oxygen. For all of his challenges, and Lord knew there were many, Sam was still like all boys his age. After suffering life-threatening injuries, he’d had to learn to walk again but still had occasional balance issues. She’d been warned that his ability to speak might never return. “Be careful. You could hurt yourself.”

“There’s not much chance of that.”

Natalie turned. The lieutenant bit the head off the gingerbread man in his hand. Was his cavalier attitude toward Sam’s safety bugging her, or was it the fact that looking at him had her insides clamoring for…for what? For something she hadn’t wanted in such a long time, she had no name for it. But the strange yearning she couldn’t name made her want to snarl at him in a primal reaction similar to fight or flight. Remember you want his help with the auction. Neither fight nor flight would get her what she wanted for Sam.

“Easy for you to say. He’s not your son,” she pointed out and grit her teeth, not understanding her reaction to Des Gallagher. Grumpiness aside, he wasn’t menacing, despite his disheveled appearance, and yet, he threatened her on some visceral level.

“Even if he was,” he said, brushing cookie crumbs off his shirt as if he didn’t have a care in the world, “it doesn’t change facts.”

She narrowed her eyes at Des as if he represented some sort of threat. He does, a voice screamed at her. But the danger wasn’t physical…well, unless you counted her body’s reaction to him. He wasn’t her type, she argued with herself. For one thing, he was too tall, at least two or three inches over six feet to her mere five foot two. Okay, okay, five feet and one and a half inches. He couldn’t be called charming or even pleasant.

His face was covered in stubble, his eyes a little bloodshot. He appeared to be wearing the same clothes as yesterday, a red-and-black buffalo-plaid flannel shirt over a cream-colored, waffle-knit shirt and faded jeans. Had he been up all night? Working or drinking?

She was going with working because she hadn’t smelled any alcohol or even breath mints on him. Besides, Tavie hadn’t said anything about a drinking problem, and she would know. Natalie was convinced the owner of Loon Lake General Store knew everything about everyone.

Des muttered something under his breath and limped toward Sam. How come she hadn’t noticed that limp before? Maybe because he’d been sitting down. As her neighbor’s little brother might say, “Duh, Natalie.” Being around this man had her on her toes. Too bad being around him also drained IQ points.

“Have you ever been on a snowmobile?” Des hunkered down next to Sam with an exhaled grunt.

What was the matter with his left leg? Was that why he was no longer in the navy? She took back every nasty or unkind thought she’d ever had about Des Gallagher. Except the thoughts you were thinking last night weren’t unkind. Some might call them nasty but with a totally different connotation of that particular word.

Tavie Whatley had talked about Des but hadn’t said anything about permanent or debilitating injuries. Was it simple politeness or was Tavie caught under his spell, too?

What’s this too business? I haven’t fallen under his spell.

“This will be our first winter here,” she said, hoping to steer her thoughts to more wholesome topics. “We didn’t get much snow where we lived before. We’re looking forward to real snow, aren’t we, Sam?”

His blue eyes wide, Sam nodded enthusiastically.

“Real snow? What other kind is there?” Des snorted and threw her a questioning glance. “Where the heck did you live before?”

“Nashville. We’d get some snow accumulation, but it didn’t last much past noon on sunny days. Sam and I are looking forward to building our first snowman, going sledding and having snowball fights.”

“Be careful what you wish for,” he said. “Along with all those snowmen come shoveling, scraping your car, crappy driving conditions, salt and sand all winter long. To name a few of the exciting perks.”

“And yet, here you are.” She parroted his words from yesterday and made sure the challenge was evident in her tone.

He made a noise, blowing air through his lips. “Maybe I’m a glutton for punishment.”