A Knights Bridge Christmas

With raised eyebrows, Vera retreated to the children’s room in the front of the library.

“I can’t decorate Gran’s house by myself,” Logan said. “I get hives thinking about it.”

He didn’t look as if he were about to break out in anxiety-driven hives. Clare couldn’t hide her amusement. “Really, Dr. Farrell?”

“Logan. Please. All right, hives is an exaggeration, but it’s close. I don’t want to disappoint my grandmother. This move...” He paused, grimacing. “You help me decorate her house for Christmas, and the library can have first crack at her collection of books. Take what you want and I’ll get rid of the rest. She’s a pack rat. She could have valuable first editions.”

“And your grandmother has agreed to this arrangement?”

“She proposed it.”

Clare smiled. “Did you tell her about your hives?”

An unexpected smile played at the corners of his mouth. “She said, ‘Logan, you look as if you’re about to break out in hives.’” But he glanced at the library entrance, as if he was in a hurry and already had stayed longer than he’d meant to. He looked back at Clare, again the busy ER doctor. “You’ll do it?”

The odds she would discover a hidden treasure buried in Daisy Farrell’s house were slim to none, but the library did raise money from periodic book sales and could always use donations.

Logan shoved his hands in his overcoat pockets, an obvious attempt to hide his impatience. “I don’t see a downside,” he said.

You, Clare thought, but she tried to keep her reaction from entering itself into her expression. “I want to be sure I have the time. I’m still getting used to life in Knights Bridge, and I have a first-grader—”

“He can help. Kids love to decorate. I’ll buy him a present. What does he like?”

She folded her arms across her chest. “You like to get your way, don’t you?”

“I’m trying to help my grandmother.”

“You’re trying to fob off helping your grandmother onto me.”

“I said I’d help.”

“When?”

“I’m off this weekend.”

Clare lowered her arms to her sides. “You don’t have any plans to be in Knights Bridge on Christmas Eve, do you?”

“I don’t have plans for Christmas right now. Clare—Mrs. Morgan—”

“Clare is fine, and of course I’ll help decorate your grandmother’s house—as a favor to her. She doesn’t need to donate anything to the library.”

“Not going to be bribed, are you?”

“I have a feeling you and Mrs. Farrell are both good at getting people to do what you want them to do.”

“I’m an amateur compared to Gran.” He sighed in obvious relief. “Thank you.”

Clare expected him to bolt out of there now that he’d gotten his way, but he didn’t move. He eyed her, his knowing gaze somehow reminding her he was an emergency physician. “Gran’s mention of accidents at Christmas got to you,” he said finally.

“I don’t know why it did. I hope it didn’t make her feel awkward.”

“She’s lived a long life. She’s had her share of hardships and tragedies.” Logan left it at that and stood straight. “We can start on Saturday, then?”

Clare nodded. “I have the weekend off.”

“Good. It shouldn’t take long to decorate the place. Let’s meet at the house at nine. Will that suit you?”

“That works for me.”

“Good. I’ll see you then,” he added, already on his way toward the front door.

When the door thudded shut behind him, Clare sank into the chair at her desk and breathed.

What had she just done?

Nothing dramatic or insane, she told herself. She’d agreed to help decorate a house with an intense, good-looking, out-of-town ER doctor who wanted to please his grandmother. Any romantic implications were in her head—not that she was thinking along those lines, or, certainly, that he was.

“Seriously,” she told herself.

She was simply a means to an end for Logan Farrell.

* * *

It was dark when Clare left the library. She drove the short distance to Maggie and Brandon Sloan’s fixer-upper “gingerbread house” off South Main. Maggie was a local caterer with enough energy for ten people. Putting bits and pieces of their conversations together, Clare had concluded that Maggie and her carpenter husband, childhood sweethearts, had come through a rough patch in their marriage.

Maggie had on a chef’s apron covered in flour, some of it in her red curls. “It’s pandemonium in here,” she said cheerfully.

She wasn’t exaggerating. Aidan, Tyler and Owen had transformed the living room into a pirate island.

“Brandon’s brother is engaged to an actual pirate expert,” Maggie said. “She’s a good sport about the boys’ idea of pirates. They just finished a treasure hunt, so your timing is perfect. All’s well. No fights, no stitches.” She didn’t sound as if either would be out of the ordinary, or bother her, within reason.

Owen was flushed with excitement, enjoying his new friends. As he put on his jacket, he and the two Sloan boys made plans on their own for a future get-together, as if their mothers weren’t standing there.

Maggie took the opportunity to lean in to Clare. “I heard you’re helping decorate the Farrell house.”

“News travels fast in this town.”

“Audrey Frost told her granddaughter, Olivia, who told me, one of her best friends. Daisy’s a peach. It’ll be great to see her house decorated one last time. I can’t imagine her not living there. I’m sure she’d love to have it stay in the family, but no interest there. It happens. People have their own lives.”

“How many children does she have?”

“Just the son. Two grandchildren—a grandson and a granddaughter in Boston.”

“I met Logan today,” Clare said, keeping her voice neutral.

“That’s what I hear. ER doctor in Boston. I’m surprised he helped Daisy move, but he’s probably anxious to get her house on the market—not for the money, I don’t mean that. Just to be done with it. I’ve run into him a few times when he’s visited his grandparents. He strikes me as very efficient, the sort you want in an emergency if not for a heart-to-heart chat.”

“Not strong on bedside manner?”