Christmas In Snowflake Canyon

“Thanks. I’ll do that.”

The young woman turned her attention back to Dylan. She tucked her hair behind her ear—her pointy ear, Gen thought, before she chided herself for her childishness in noticing. She was a horrid person, as superficial as everyone thought.

“We’re all so excited you’re finally coming to help us,” Chelsea said. “Eden has been over the moon since she heard about your, er, little brush with the law.”

“Good to know I could make everybody’s day,” he said dryly, but Chelsea didn’t appear to notice.

“It’s going to be perfect,” she exclaimed. “You’re going to be great! Exactly what we need.”

She had said nothing of the sort to Genevieve, yet another piece of evidence in what she was beginning to suspect—that her presence was superfluous here, an unnecessary addendum. The organizers of the program wanted Dylan to help out at A Warrior’s Hope because of his own perspective and experience. She, on the other hand, was little more than collateral damage.

“Where is Eden?” she finally interjected.

“She’s at the pool with Spence and our new program coordinator, Mac Scanlan.”

“I thought Eden was in charge,” Genevieve said.

“Technically, she is. She’s the executive director, in charge of fundraising, planning, coordinating events etc. We just hired a new person to actually run the activities. He’s spending the day familiarizing himself with the facilities. She told me to send you to the pool the minute you both arrive.”

Which had been several minutes earlier, but who was counting?

“Thanks,” Genevieve said.

“I’m supposed to make you ID badges first, but we’ll have to do that later, when my system is back in action. You know where to go, right? Through the main doors there and down the first hall.”

Dylan seemed reluctant to move. Apparently Genevieve would have to take the lead. She followed Chelsea’s directions, aware of him coming up behind her.

“You made it,” she said to Dylan as they entered the hallway.

“You didn’t think I’d show?”

“Given your general reluctance to this whole idea, I guess I wouldn’t have been surprised if you had decided you’d rather go to jail.”

“I’m still not discounting that possibility.”

She smiled a little. “I don’t even know what I’m doing here. Chelsea’s right. You are in a far better position than anybody else, especially me.”

“So everybody says. I’m not seeing it.”

“You know what it’s like to be injured in battle, to have to rebuild your life.”

“Right. I’m doing a hell of a job, aren’t I?”

Genevieve flashed him a quick look. “Better than I would in your situation,” she answered truthfully.

“You would probably start designing a fashion line for one-armed pirate wannabes and go on to make millions of dollars.”

She laughed. “The only one-armed pirate wannabe I know doesn’t seem particularly interested in fashion.”

He gave her a mock offended look. “What do you mean? I wore a bolo, didn’t I? I thought I was going for the hipster look.”

“Or something,” she answered.

He snorted but said nothing as they moved toward the door at the end of the hall where she could see the flickering blue of water.

“You were wrong the other day,” she said when they nearly reached it.

He paused and gave her a curious look. “You’ll have to be more specific. I’m wrong about a lot of things.”

She fiercely wished she hadn’t said anything but she couldn’t figure out a way to back down now.

“Er, you implied I flinched away when you touched me—that I was, I don’t know, disgusted or something because you’re, er, missing your arm. That wasn’t it. You just...” Her voice trailed off.

“I just...” he prodded.

“You make me nervous,” she said in a rush. “It has nothing to do with any eye patch or...or missing hand. It’s just...you.”

His eyebrow rose and he studied her for a long moment, so long she could feel herself flush. “How refreshingly honest of you, Ms. Beaumont.”

“I just didn’t want you to think I’m— What’s the word you used? Er, chickenshit.”

He laughed as she pushed open the door to the pool area and the sound echoed through the cavernous space.

Several people congregating beside the pool looked over at the sound and Genevieve recognized Spence Gregory and Dylan’s sister, Charlotte, as well as a man in a wheelchair and another woman she didn’t know.

“I wasn’t sure you would make it,” Spence said to Dylan when they reached them, holding out his hand. After a slight pause, Dylan took it.

“Why does everybody keep saying that?” he asked.

“No reason.” Charlotte hugged him and he gave her an awkward sort of pat with his right arm.

“I’m so glad you agreed to do this,” his sister said.

“You made it impossible for me to refuse, didn’t you?”

“Don’t blame me. It was all Pop’s idea, and Andrew’s the one who ran with it. Though I probably should confess that Spence might have mentioned to Harry Lange how much we’d like to have you volunteer here and I believe Harry might have mentioned it to Judge Richards during one of their poker games.”

Charlotte stepped away from her brother and gave Genevieve a cool smile. “Hello, Genevieve. We’re glad you agreed to help, too. We have a strong core of volunteers already, but we’re always glad for more.”

Genevieve had enough experience with polite falsehoods to recognize one when she heard it. She supposed she shouldn’t be surprised. Charlotte probably blamed her for her brother’s troubles in the first place.

“I’m happy to help.” She was an old hand at polite falsehoods herself.

Spencer Gregory stepped up. “Good to see you again. I didn’t have the chance to say hello when we saw you at the airport last week.”

He really was gorgeous up close. She didn’t follow baseball but she knew Smokin’ Hot Spence Gregory was a nickname given only in part for the man’s fastball. Oddly, despite those long lashes and that particularly charming smile, he didn’t make her nerves flutter at all, unlike others in the room she could mention.

“My father loved to tell business associates from out of town how you used to be our paper boy.”