The Clause in Christmas Page 3

  Prepared to whip out his backup key if necessary, Luke tried the doorknob. Finding it unlocked, he pushed his way inside and bounded—two steps at a time—up the staircase and into the first bedroom, planning to check each room for the source of the clamor.

  A large box lay in the center of the hardwood floor, its contents strewn about in every direction. Cassie’s lower body hung from a small cutaway in the ceiling that led to the attic. Her backside faced him as she swung her long legs, attempting to reach the pull-down ladder with her foot.

  As the adrenaline rushed from his body, Luke released a deep belly laugh, both from relief that she wasn’t in any real danger and amusement.

  “Hello? Who’s there?” Cassie asked, still squirming.

  “It’s Luke Davis. It seems like you’re in a bit of a predicament.”

  “I slipped trying to carry that box down. Can you give me a hand?”

  “Sure, no problem.” Luke stepped beneath her, then hesitated. How would he help her down without… well, touching her? Telling himself not to overthink it, he wrapped his arms around her legs. “Okay, you can ease yourself down now.”

  Slowly, she slid down the length of his body until they were face-to-face as he held her in his arms.

  For reasons outside his control, Luke couldn’t move. It was as if his muscles had stopped working, and his arms were incapable of releasing her.

  An awkward moment passed before she cleared her throat. “Uh, thanks.”

  Color swept across his face as he plopped her on the ground, and he hoped his five o’clock shadow covered it. “I see you’re already undertaking day one of the Christmas Calendar.”

  “Might as well get it over with.” Cassie stooped to gather the scattered decorations, tossing them back inside the box unceremoniously. Plucking a headless Santa statue from the floor, she giggled. “Yikes! It kind of looks like Armageddon at the North Pole, doesn’t it?”

  Luke chuckled as he sank onto his hands and knees, searching for the rest of Saint Nick. “Morbid, but yes.” Reaching under the iron bed frame, he retrieved the missing head, noting Santa’s jolly smile took on an eerie tone when it wasn’t attached to his rotund frame. “It shouldn’t be too hard to glue back together.”

  Cassie shrugged. “One less decoration to deal with doesn’t bother me.”

  “I take it you’re not a fan of decorating?”

  “I’m not a fan of Christmas.”

  Luke cocked his head, eyeing her curiously. “What do you mean? Everyone likes Christmas.”

  “I don’t,” Cassie said softly, dropping her gaze. Then, almost instantly, her expression transformed. Her full lips stretched into a broad smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “I guess I’m in good company with Scrooge and the Grinch.”

  “You know Scrooge and the Grinch like Christmas at the end of the story, right?”

  Cassie flushed and busied herself with refilling the box. “Truthfully, I haven’t seen either of those movies. So, I guess it’s just me, then. The only person in the world who doesn’t like Christmas.”

  “What’s not to like?” Luke settled two reindeer figurines carefully in a bed of faux greenery, casting a sideways glance in Cassie’s direction. He couldn’t help noticing the way her brow creased ever so slightly, or the nearly inscrutable clench in her jaw.

  Cassie waved a hand over the mess scattered before them. “It’s so excessive. I hate all the commercialism.”

  Luke nodded slowly, although he could tell she wasn’t telling him the entire story. “Sure, there can be that aspect. But isn’t Christmas what you make of it? We have a choice to go overboard or focus on the things that really matter. Like family and friends.”

  Cassie leaned back on her heels and stared at him like he’d grown reindeer antlers out of his head. Clearly, she had some issues with Christmas. Luke only hoped he could help change her mind.

  “I can see Christmas decorating isn’t your thing. So, how about I help you out? I’m an expert at hanging Christmas lights. In fact, Clark Griswold wishes he could string lights as well as me.”

  “Who?”

  “Clark Griswold. From National Lampoon’s Christmas Vacation.”

  Cassie’s blank expression indicated she still had no idea what he was talking about.

  “Wow. You really aren’t into Christmas, are you?”

  “I told you. And before you ask. No, I haven’t seen White Christmas or Miracle on 34th Street, either.”

  “Okay, Cassie Hayward. I’m about to give you a Christmas Calendar of my own. The twenty-five films of Christmas. Beginning with my favorite, Home Alone.” Standing, Luke reached out his hand to help her up.

  Cassie grinned as he pulled her to her feet. “Home Alone sounds like a horror movie, doesn’t it? I can already hear a sinister voice saying, ‘The call is coming from inside the house.’”

  Luke chuckled at her impression of the raspy-voiced intruder. “Let’s start with the basics, then. You decorate the inside of the house, and I’ll decorate the outside. Deal?” He held out his hand again, already missing the feel of her soft skin against his own.

  “Deal.”

  As they shook on it, Luke realized he didn’t want to let go.

  Cassie didn’t seem to be in a hurry, either, until her phone buzzed in her back pocket.

  Luke couldn’t bring himself to look away as her phone screen came into view.

  He wasn’t sure what he expected to see, but he instantly felt the retribution for his curiosity.

  No name appeared on the screen, only a number.

  But the message… that was the real kicker.

  It might as well have been seared into his brain by a pyrography pen.

  Three simple words that weren’t simple at all.

  I miss you.

  Chapter 4

  Cassie had only decorated for Christmas one other time in her life—when she was nine years old.

  Armed with a wooden spoon and ceramic mixing bowl, Cassie uprooted a shrub from the alleyway behind their apartment building. After planting the foliage in the makeshift pot, she proudly displayed it in the center of the coffee table before scrounging around their studio apartment for random odds and ends to use for decoration. A few hair clips, a pair of her mother’s earrings, and a red satin bow she tore off her favorite dress all did the job nicely. The pièce de résistance was the star on top—a gold star, to be exact. A reward for lasting until the final round of her third-grade spelling bee. First place received a shiny blue ribbon, but she cherished her third-place plastic star as if it had been made of real gold. It was the first and only thing she’d ever won.

  After nestling the treasured star near the top in the thin, prickly needles of the shrub, Cassie stepped back to admire her masterpiece.

  She couldn’t wait for her mother to see it, hoping against all reason it would spark a glimmer of festive cheer in their otherwise dreary lives.

  The next morning, Cassie woke to Donna Hayward passed out on the couch, the Christmas shrub in a pile of dirt and broken pottery on the floor. The gold star lay snapped in two pieces, as though someone had trampled on it, along with Cassie’s youthful hopes and dreams.

  She wanted to cry, but even at nine years old, Cassie knew it wouldn’t do any good. Instead, she pushed a rickety chair against the kitchen counter and set to work brewing a pot of fresh coffee—the only cure for what Donna dubbed the Whiskey Blues.

  Now, as Cassie surveyed her handiwork twenty years later, she couldn’t believe she was responsible for the festive sight before her eyes. Even Martha Stewart would be proud.

  The tall pillar candles in red, green, and gold that lined the oak mantel were nestled in a fresh cedar garland—courtesy of Luke’s pruning skills—filling the entire living room with a heavenly, woodsy aroma. An antique sled rested on the hearth, stacked high with pine logs and cinnamon-scented fire starters. A quilt, each square depicting one of the twelve days of Christmas, rested across the back of the cozy loveseat. But Cassie’s
favorite touch was an exquisite, hand-carved nativity set Luke said he’d made for her grandmother a few years ago. For some reason, Cassie liked knowing he had crafted it with his own two hands, and she’d given it the prized position in the center of the coffee table.

  “Wow.” Luke wiped his boots on the Christmas-themed welcome mat before coming to stand beside her. “I’m impressed.”

  “I’m rather pleased myself.”

  “Oh?” His hazel eyes shone with a mischievous glint. “Getting into the Christmas spirit, are you?”

  “Don’t get too excited. I only meant at least it doesn’t look like Rudolph barfed everywhere.”

  He let out a deep rumble of laughter. “Okay, fair enough. For what it’s worth, though, I think it looks great.”

  At his praise, a warm glow spread over every inch of her. “Thanks.”

  “The sun is setting.” Luke strode toward the bay window to peer outside. “In twenty minutes or so we can step out front, and I’ll turn on the lights.”

  Cassie smiled at the way his face lit up in childlike excitement. She had a feeling she’d rather gaze at that illumination over some gaudy Christmas light display.

  “It’s already sunset?” She reached for her phone to check the time, then remembered she’d banished the traitorous device to the darkness beneath her pillow.

  No matter how many times she blocked Derek’s number, he got a new one. And the longer she ignored him, the more he persisted. She had hoped he would at least have the decency to leave her alone at Christmas. Was he clueless to the cruel irony? Or did he simply not care? When it came to Derek, both scenarios were equally plausible.

  “Yep.” Luke rested one knee on the window seat as he leaned forward for a better view. “Judging on how low the sun is in the sky, I’d say it’s just past five o’clock.”

  As if on cue, Cassie’s stomach rumbled, and she placed her hand over it as if her palm would somehow muffle the noise.

  “If that means you’re hungry, you’re already on Poppy Creek’s dinner schedule.” Luke’s eyes twinkled with humor.

  Cassie blushed. “I don’t normally eat this early. But I forgot to have lunch. And breakfast, actually.” Her stomach emitted another growl, and Cassie gave it a small, appeasing pat. It could be upset all it wanted, but it wouldn’t do any good. She hadn’t packed a single thing to eat.

  “That reminds me!” Disappearing outside, Luke returned with the thermos she’d left at his office and a large wicker basket bursting with goodies. “I should have brought this in earlier, but it’s cold enough outside, the food should be fine.”

  Cassie followed him into the kitchen, her heart beating in a strange rhythm, as though trying to keep up with her conflicting emotions. On the one hand, she was starving and already eyeing the colossal cinnamon rolls like a ravenous reindeer. On the other hand, it unsettled her that everyone she’d met in town seemed so kind and welcoming. It didn’t add up with the picture she’d formed in her mind.

  “You really didn’t have to do this,” she told him, although her mouth watered as he unpacked the contents of the basket on the butcher block island.

  “I didn’t. You can thank my mom. She’s the unofficial welcome committee in Poppy Creek.” With all the items lined up on the counter, Luke said, “Take your pick. Personally, I’d start with the stew. No one knows what’s in it, but I promise it’ll be one of the best things you’ve ever tasted.”

  Cassie eyed the quart-sized mason jar warily. “It’s not squirrel meat, is it?”

  Luke sputtered with laughter. “I didn’t mean it was mystery meat! But nice to know what you think of small towns.” He set a copper saucepan on the stove and unscrewed the lid of the mason jar. “It’s beef. But the recipe is a secret. Believe me, some people in this town have been trying to figure it out for years.”

  Cassie slid onto the backless stool and rested her elbows on the smooth wooden surface of the butcher block. “You really like living here, don’t you?”

  Luke glanced over his shoulder as he stirred the stew on the gas range. “Yeah, I do. I like that the beauty of nature is right outside my back door. And the people here can be nosy, but they look out for each other. I can’t imagine anyone not wanting to live here.”

  “My mom didn’t.” The words slipped out before Cassie even realized the thought had crossed her mind.

  Luke’s hand stilled a moment before he resumed the figure eight pattern in the simmering stew. “Do you know why she left?”

  Cassie ran her finger along a nick in the countertop, wishing she’d never brought up the subject. “No, not really. But she hated it here. That much I know.”

  Luke stirred in silence, and Cassie stole a glance in his direction, noting the deep lines etched into his forehead.

  “I’m sorry to hear that,” he said softly.

  Uncomfortable with the sympathetic edge to his voice, Cassie sprang from the stool and busied herself with finding two bowls.

  Cassie had only ever broached the subject of why they left Poppy Creek once. And the haunting reflection of anguish that sparked in her mother’s eyes had been visceral enough to forever silence her on the subject.

  Even now, being in the home where her mother grew up felt like a betrayal.

  More so because she found herself enjoying it.

  Luke clicked off the burner and set a lid on the saucepan. “Let’s leave the stew to sit a minute and go check out the lights.”

  At the look of pure excitement on Luke’s face, Cassie tried to muster some enthusiasm as she followed him outside.

  Standing in the gravel driveway facing the house, Luke said, “Close your eyes.”

  Cassie wrinkled her nose. “No way.”

  “Humor me.”

  “Okay, fine.” Cassie sighed dramatically.

  “And no peeking!”

  Cassie would have rolled her eyes if they weren’t already shut, deciding to respond with a sarcastic quip instead. But as soon as her lips parted, her breath faltered.

  Luke’s large, rough hands grabbed both of hers, drawing them toward her face. His touch sent her heart racing, although she tried to pass it off as purely surprise.

  He placed her palms over her eyes, his hands lingering on hers as he said, “Stay here, and don’t open your eyes until I tell you to.”

  Cassie held her breath. He stood so close his body heat spanned the short distance between them. He couldn’t have been more than a few inches away. Why did the realization send tingles down her spine?

  “Okay,” she murmured, embarrassed by the catch in her throat.

  She felt the absence of his presence before she heard the sound of his heavy footsteps against the wood planks of the front porch. Even behind the shield of her hands, Cassie could tell the instant the light changed.

  “Ready?” Luke asked, standing beside her again. His husky tone conveyed his eager anticipation.

  Cassie slowly lowered her hands and her eyelids fluttered open.

  She gasped in astonishment as the brilliance of the golden glow overwhelmed her in the best way possible.

  Luke had strung white glittering lights across every eave and roofline, along every window and door frame, and even around the porch columns and railings.

  “What do you think?”

  “I—” Cassie hesitated, unsure how to describe her rush of emotions. “I think it’s magical.”

  “Good.” Luke nudged her playfully with his shoulder. “That’s what I was going for.”

  Cassie glanced up, losing her breath for the second time.

  Something in the way he looked at her made her at once thrilled and terrified.

  Luke pulled into the weathered barn and shifted his pickup into park as the automatic overhead lights flickered to life. He let the key dangle in the ignition, debating on whether or not to listen to the five voicemails cluttering his mailbox.

  His gaze drifted to the other side of the barn, which he’d converted into a makeshift woodworking shop. It wasn’t fancy
, but it served its purpose. And with the help of a few space heaters, the bone-chilling air would warm up in no time.

  The unfinished rocking chair he’d started a few weeks ago beckoned to him.

  Luke sighed, glancing at the voicemail icon on his cell. He knew the messages could probably wait. And no one would mind if he didn’t call them back until tomorrow. But the burden of “what if” weighed heavily on his shoulders.

  He lifted the phone to his ear, rolling his eyes toward the roof of the pickup as he listened.

  As he suspected, no emergencies. Well, no actual emergencies. Frida Connelly seemed to think every tweak to her will was of national importance, but Luke could return her call in the morning.

  Climbing out of the truck, his boots sank into the thick layer of sawdust covering the dirt floor. The fresh scent of cedar and sap filled his nostrils as he drew in a deep breath. Few things in the world smelled better than his workshop. Not even his mother’s bakery, although he’d never say so.

  Kneeling in a patch of sawdust, Luke ran a hand over the rough walnut, deciding he’d spend a few hours sanding, smoothing out the surface.

  Maybe he’d even smooth out his thoughts in the process.

  Spending the day, and a good chunk of the evening, with Cassie left a disconcerting churn in the pit of his stomach. He enjoyed being around her more than he wanted to admit. And catching a glimpse of her text message elicited a stronger reaction than seemed reasonable. After all, what did he care if she had a boyfriend back home who missed her? Even if she didn’t, she’d be leaving town at the end of the month, anyway.

  Plus, he barely had time to sand a two-by-four, let alone date anyone.

  As if on cue, his phone rang, disrupting the still night air.

  Recognizing the number of his mother’s bakery, Luke answered. “Hello?”

  “Uncle Luke!” The chipper voice of Ben Carter spilled from the speakers.

  “Hey, bud. What’s up?” Luke picked up a loose square of sandpaper and gently ran it along the arm of the chair.