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The Scrooge Of Loon Lake
Carrie Nichols
It’s the most wonderful time of the year… …with the grumpiest man in town! Former Lieutenant Des Gallagher sees no joy in Christmas and refuses to celebrate it. Until single mum Natalie Pierce shows up on his doorstep. Can Natalie show this Scrooge that Christmas can lead to Happy Ever After…


It’s the most wonderful time of the year…
…with the grumpiest man in town!
The love of his life left him. The navy discharged him. So former lieutenant Des Gallagher sees no reason to celebrate Christmas—now or ever.
Yet when Natalie Pierce shows up on his doorstep, a bright light enters his gloomy existence. As Des shapes her—and her little son’s—world for the better, she wonders if a scrooge could turn into the perfect Santa…
CARRIE NICHOLS grew up in New England but moved south and traded snow for air conditioning. She loves to travel, is addicted to British crime dramas and knows a Seinfeld quote appropriate for every occasion.
A 2016 RWA Golden Heart® Award winner and two-time Maggie Award for Excellence winner, she has one tolerant husband, two grown sons and two critical cats. To her dismay, Carrie’s characters—like her family—often ignore the wisdom and guidance she offers.
Also by Carrie Nichols (#u24534361-fb8c-5ee2-990c-421ecc2793bc)
The Marine’s Secret DaughterThe Sergeant’s Unexpected Family
Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
The Scrooge of Loon Lake
Carrie Nichols


www.millsandboon.co.uk (http://www.millsandboon.co.uk)
ISBN: 978-1-474-09178-7
THE SCROOGE OF LOON LAKE
© 2019 Carol Opalinski
Published in Great Britain 2019
by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollinsPublishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF
All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.
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Note to Readers (#u24534361-fb8c-5ee2-990c-421ecc2793bc)
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This is dedicated to the two Jills.
My agent, Jill Marsal, who believed in my writing
voice before I knew how to plot or write conflict,
and my walking partner, Jill Ralph, who not only
pulls me away from my desk twice a day but is the
perfect sounding board for story problems.
Contents
Cover (#u7ffdbdfb-37ad-56d6-8296-83e0a3b66c45)
Back Cover Text (#u2612d569-0191-5497-a180-ef222cdb5b53)
About the Author (#udd459eac-3894-53c9-92b3-c4bbc57db369)
Booklist (#uc418b279-1110-596e-ac5a-b4c33aa83cc7)
Title Page (#u55a86a83-2683-5938-898f-b70a5432ad4f)
Copyright (#ua1082431-e0b7-5e6d-a25f-243efa03dbde)
Note to Readers
Dedication (#u75c60d0c-a4d7-5c30-9cb4-f799fa16c60f)
Chapter One (#ua9124161-d4e0-566e-9b00-7ddd713f8cd6)
Chapter Two (#u3d984e95-b740-5864-826a-5707dfcadd58)
Chapter Three (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Four (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Five (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Six (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Seven (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eight (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Nine (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Ten (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter Eleven (#litres_trial_promo)
Extract (#litres_trial_promo)
About the Publisher (#litres_trial_promo)
Chapter One (#u24534361-fb8c-5ee2-990c-421ecc2793bc)
Desmond “Des” Gallagher heaved a frustrated sigh as he stared at the scattered pieces of colorful glass laid out on his workbench. This was the third day in a row he’d come to the former business office in the spacious barn he now used as his workshop and done nothing but sit and stare. The scarred and chipped wood that made up the table’s surface attested to the fact that work did indeed get done here. Just not today. Or yesterday. He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. And not even the day before that. Normally, seeing the glass laid out before him was enough to spark an idea, even if he had no concrete design in mind.
Today’s project was an unfinished stained glass window that could be installed in place of an existing window frame or framed and hung like a painting. While those remained popular, his new love was shattered glass sculptures. Shattering the glass himself, he enjoyed taking those broken pieces and creating something new and better from them. Although he’d experimented with small, blown glass items, he’d shunned the much larger ones because crafting those required more than one person.
Having to think about a project stifled his creativity. His best work came when his brain sent signals directly to his fingers and he assembled pieces without conscious thought. Crazy, but who was he to argue with something that had served him well enough to earn a living? He wasn’t getting rich from it but his art supplemented his military disability.
Stretching his neck, he scowled. Christmas. That was the problem. He couldn’t escape the dreaded holiday nor the painful memories the season triggered. He did his best to avoid going into town from Thanksgiving until well into January because Loon Lake loved its Christmas celebrations. Main Street, with its quaint, brick-front shops huddled around the town green, would soon be decked out in lights, garlands and, God help him, holiday cheer. If he couldn’t get an item at the gas station mini-mart on the edge of town or by ordering online, he went without until after the holidays.
And what was his excuse for avoiding the town the other ten months? He reached for his stainless-steel insulated mug and took a sip of his favorite Sumatran coffee from beans he’d ground that morning. Yeah, he took his coffee seriously. Maybe if he pretended he had an idea one would come. Pfft, talk about clutching at straws. Shaking his head, he set the mug down and reached for the grozier pliers.
“Yoo-hoo? Lieutenant Gallagher?”
His head snapped up at the interruption. A petite blonde woman, dressed in a bright red parka, stood in the doorway. One hand held a red and green tin; the other clutched the hand of a towheaded boy who looked to be about four or five. What the…? He discouraged visitors and studiously shunned community activities to avoid becoming embroiled in the residents’ lives—and thereby ensuring they, in turn, stayed out of his.
How did she even find her way out here? He lived in the back of beyond; his fifty-acre former horse farm could be considered isolated, even in a sparsely populated state like Vermont. His nearest neighbor, Brody Wilson, was five miles away and that was as the crow flew. And unlike Brody, Des had no interest in keeping horses, so the numerous paddocks surrounding the barn remained as empty as the day he’d bought the place. Summers working on a dude ranch had cured him of the romance of horse ownership.
The woman, who appeared to be in her mid-to late-twenties, stepped closer. Close enough for a subtle lavender scent to reach him.
“Hi. I was hoping I could have a minute of your time.” Her broad smile revealed a crooked bottom tooth.
He had no business noticing that tooth, even less thinking it was…what? Not sexy, but appealing in some wholesome, girl-next-door way. He scowled at his thoughts. “Why? Are my minutes better than yours?”
“Sir?” She shook her head, her long, corn-silk hair brushing against, and contrasting with, the cherry-red of her jacket. “No. I—I meant—”
“Unless you know something I don’t, you taking one of my minutes won’t increase yours.” He was acting like a first-class jerk, but she’d set off warning bells. And what was the deal with that sir? It grated on his nerves. Here he was checking her out and she was addressing him as sir. At thirty-four, he couldn’t be more than eight or ten years her senior. He sighed. It wasn’t her language that had him spooked.No, it was his reaction to her that had him acting like a complete ass.
A small furrow appeared in the middle of her forehead. Damn, but she even frowned cute. That clinched it because he wasn’t into cute. And certainly not ones who addressed him as sir. Let it go, Gallagher. His type might be blondes but they were also tall and blatantly sexy with a mouthful of perfect teeth. That disqualified the five-foot-nothing woman with the crooked tooth. Considering how many women he’d been with in the past three years, though, his type would appear to be fictional women.
Her full bottom lip now hid the tooth and he looked away. He rose from the stool he’d been perched on, careful not to put too much weight on his left leg after sitting for so long. Staggering or collapsing in front of her was not the look he was going for. Ha! She’d probably rush to help and his ego had taken enough beating with the sir. That’s letting it go?
Bottom line, he needed to get rid of her before she regrouped, started using that killer smile on him again. He hitched his chin at the tin she carried. “If you’re here from the town’s welcoming committee, you’re three years too late.”
She shook her head, causing her hair to sway. “That’s not why I’m here. I—I saw your work at the General Store and—”
“Then you should’ve bought it there. I don’t sell pieces out of my workshop. Didn’t Tavie explain that?” His location wasn’t a secret, but the tourists and residents of Loon Lake bought his stuff in town and left him alone, and that was the way he liked it. “How did you even find me?”
“It wasn’t easy, believe me.” She gave him a tentative smile.
He grunted. “And yet, here you are.”
“I can be quite resourceful and frankly—” she glanced around the cavernous barn, empty and scrupulously clean except for his cluttered work area “—it’s not exactly some Bond villain’s supersecret lair.”
Her smile seemed to be an invitation to join in, but he deepened his scowl. It was either that or start grinning foolishly. She was charming, and he remembered he didn’t do charming. And, by God, he wouldn’t allow himself to be charmed.
She licked her lips and swallowed. “Tavie gave me directions.”
“That figures,” he muttered.
Octavia “Tavie” Whatley might be proprietress of Loon Lake General Store, but general busybody was her true occupation. Not much went on in town without her knowing about it, but she’d sold more of his pieces than anyone, so he grit his teeth and put up with her. Even with his frugal lifestyle, the military disability only went so far.
“Dear me, where are my manners. I’m Natalie Pierce.” She let go of the boy’s hand and placed her palm over the top of his head in a tender gesture. “And this is my son, Sam.”
The kid grinned up at him, his eyes the same clear August-sky blue as hers. Des nodded to the boy. He had nothing against children. Just women with bright sunny smiles?And let’s not forget that oddly appealing crooked tooth. Damn. He didn’t want or need these distractions. Yeah, because you’re so busy being creative. He told his nothing-but-trouble inner voice to shut up.
“I hate to interrupt—” she began.
“But you’re doing it, anyway.” And the jerk behavior continued. Her presence was flustering him so he was repaying the favor. See if he could fluster her a bit. His reaction wasn’t her fault, but he was in survival mode because that weaponized smile of hers had scrambled his thought process. He’d gone too long without female company. That was it; blame this on self-imposed celibacy.
“Lieutenant Gallagher, I—”
“Call me Des. My navy days are behind me.” His days of being catapulted at one hundred and sixty-five miles an hour from the deck of a carrier in a metal casket worth seventy million dollars were over. He grit his teeth and rubbed his knotted thigh muscles. Why did he want her to call him Des? Saying his given name shouldn’t matter because he was trying to get her and that way too appealing smile out of his barn. Wasn’t he?
“Des,” she said, drawing it out.
“Yeah, but it’s generally one short syllable.” But her version worked. Worked a bit too well, as a matter of fact.
“Sorry.” She inhaled as if she was about to launch into a prepared speech.
He opened his mouth to—
“I’m here to talk to you about handcrafting some items for an auction we’re having. Christmas ornaments would be a real hit this time of year. And it’s for a great cause. There’s this fantastic hippotherapy program that needs—”
“Stop right there.” He held up his hand like a cop halting traffic. “Doesn’t matter the cause. I don’t do Christmas. Period.”
“What? No Christmas? But…but… Why?” She blinked owlishly. “What’s not to love about Christmas?”
How about being a child and spending it with a suicidal mother? Always worried she would disappear. He would’ve been left alone because his biological father wanted nothing to do with Des. In his dad’s mind, Des was proof of an indiscretion while attending an out-of-town conference. “I have my reasons.”
She opened her mouth, but Sam tugged on her sleeve. She looked down, and the boy up, his eyes large and his stare intense, both standing still like they were having a telepathic conversation. One that excluded everyone else, even him. She glanced at her watch, sighed and nodded her head.
“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.”
She laughed. He was enjoying this too much to be as fractious as he wanted her to believe. “I’ll bet you enjoy every minute of the snow. The more miserable, the better.”
He rolled his eyes. “Remind me not to play poker with you.”
She frowned at his comment. Wait, was he groaning? “Why? I don’t understand your meaning.”
“You see too much.” He shook his head. “I predict if we have a bad winter, you’ll be crying uncle long before mud season.”
“Mud season?”
“It’s Vermont’s fifth season and comes between winter and spring.” He glanced at her sneakers. “You might want to invest in a decent pair of rubber boots before then, not to mention snow boots for the snow you’re wanting.”
“We’re here to stay. It would take more than snow or mud to chase us away.” She squared her shoulders and forced strength into her voice. “And that’s a promise, not a threat. In case you were wondering.”
“Thanks for clearing that up.” The side of his mouth lifted a fraction, the only indication he might be amused.
She moved closer and rested her hand on the padded seat of the snowmobile. “I must say, you have an impressive piece of equipment.”
“Gee, thanks, it’s been a while since anyone has complimented me on my…equipment,” he said in a deadpan tone.
She turned toward him. What did she—Oh! So much for wholesome. She closed her eyes, wishing the ground would swallow her up because now her imagination was going there. The last time she’d flirted could be measured in years, definitely before her marriage to Ryan. Her face burning up, she opened her eyes and met his gaze. His face was impassive except for an ever-so-slight lift of his eyebrows.
Her mouth opened and closed. Great, she couldn’t manage anything except an imitation of a goldfish. His expression didn’t change, but she had the distinct feeling he was relishing her discomfort. When she narrowed her eyes at him, he rubbed a hand over his mouth, his fingers making a scratching sound on the stubble. How would those dark whiskers feel against her skin? Stay away from there, Natalie. You’re way out of your depth.
Okay, so the man had a sense of humor hidden under that ill-mannered exterior. What would he be like if—No, she wanted him to make some ornaments for her auction. That was all. Nothing more. But there was no harm in noticing how his chest filled out that flannel shirt, was there?
“…on a snowmobile before?” Des had been talking to Sam while she’d been daydreaming about things she shouldn’t.
Sam, who seemed to be hanging on every word Des said, shook his head. Natalie’s chest tightened. Last year her dad had suffered one of those widow-maker heart attacks, and Sam had lost the closest male role model he’d had since his dad and her late husband, Ryan, passed away. Sure, he had plenty of doting women in his life, but she knew they couldn’t fill the void the same way a man could. Her father had been a crusty career army drill sergeant but had had a soft spot for Sam she could have hit blindfolded.
She listened as Des explained how the snowmobile worked and she made a mental note to look for a toy one Sam could add to his beloved collection of die-cast miniature cars. It would make a nice stocking stuffer. There wasn’t an abundance of extra money for Christmas presents, so she was making sure each gift from Santa was well thought out.
Des rose and stepped back until he stood shoulder to shoulder with her. “He doesn’t say much.”
She knew she could agree with him and that would be the end of the matter. That was what she’d learned to do with people who passed anonymously through their lives. She’d even perfected her smile when people said things like “I wish mine was that quiet.”
“That’s because he can’t. Three years ago, when Sam was two, a car jumped the curb into a crowd of people leaving a minor league baseball game in Nashville, where we were living. That crowd included my husband and my son. Ryan was killed and Sam suffered a TBI.” She cleared her throat. “Sorry, a TBI is—”
“Traumatic brain injury,” Des interrupted. “I’m familiar with the term.”
She glanced at Sam, who was still enamored with the snowmobile. “I’ll spare you all the fancy medical jargon and say he understands words, but his brain can’t plan and sequence the movements to say them. Apraxia of speech is the official term.”
Des nodded. “And this hippotherapy you mentioned helps?”
“Not with speech but it helps with muscle memory and balance,” she said. “Plus, he enjoys it. Being with the horses is more of a reward than just another therapy session like with the speech-language pathologists or physical therapy.”
“Is that why you left in such a hurry yesterday?”
“Yeah, that’s one appointment he doesn’t like to miss. Sam, don’t climb up there. It’s—”
“It’s fine. He won’t hurt anything,” Des interrupted and motioned to Sam. “You can sit on the seat if you want, bud.”
Natalie tamped down the automatic protest that sprang up and pressed her lips together. It wasn’t easy, but she needed to allow Sam room to explore. Smothering him only helped her, not him.
Des shifted his stance, bringing her attention back to him. She longed to ask what had happened to him, but politeness made her hold her tongue. Telling him she’d noticed his limp seemed a bit too forward, despite his mentioning Sam’s lack of verbal skills. Her Southern mother had drilled proper manners into her with the zeal of Natalie’s drill sergeant father. Plus, she was enjoying the sunshine on this final day in November. Not to mention being in the company of a male over the age of five. She didn’t want to spoil either with awkward questions.
“Is he in school?”
She shook her head. “I held him back an extra year. You can do that with kindergarten. He still had a lot of weekly therapy sessions and he’s made great strides in almost everything this year, which was why I felt comfortable enough to pick up and move here.”
“So will he ever be able to…” Des trailed off and winced.
“Every individual’s recovery is different.” Even to herself, her answer sounded rote and unconvincing. “We’re working with an AAC device. Sorry, that’s his augmentative and alternative communication device. Ha, my dad was career army so I grew up with all those military acronyms, but I must say medical experts love them just as much.”
“Ah, an army brat. That explains it.” He weighed her with a critical squint.
She shifted under his scrutiny. “Explains what?”
“You have a slight accent, but I haven’t been able to place it.”
“Yeah, I guess my speech patterns are a mixture of everywhere. My mom is from Georgia, so I have a bit of her accent but did my best to fit in wherever we were living at the time.” Her stomach did a little fluttery thing. He’d tried to pick out her accent? That meant he’d thought about her. A little thing like that shouldn’t please her as much as it did. Why not? her inner voice demanded, because she’d given him enough thought since yesterday. Des Gallagher had occupied a lot of headspace for such a brief meeting.
His face was impassive, but his gaze roamed over her. “Georgia? Huh, maybe that explains it.”
“My accent?”
He shook his head. “Nope.”
“Sorry? You’ve lost me.” Her knees wobbled under his examination. What the heck was he on about?
“How old are you?”
“Twenty-six. Why?” She stood straighter. Despite a few silver strands threaded in his thick, lustrously black hair, he seemed no older than his midthirties. They were contemporaries.
He grunted. “There’s eight years separating us. Hardly calls for you to sir me.”
“When did I call you sir?” She couldn’t recall a faux pas like that.
He rubbed the back of his scalp. “Yesterday. When you first walked in.”
“You must have flustered me.” Should I be admitting that? “Between my drill sergeant father and Southern mother, sir and ma’am comes naturally. I—I sometimes fall back on that if I feel like I’ve been put on the spot.”
He swiped a hand across his mouth, his dark eyes amused. “In that case, I apologize for flustering you.”
“Bless your heart, you can’t help it,” she said in a perfect imitation of her mother, not that he would know that.
His eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Am I detecting an insult in there somewhere?”
“If you are, then that’s on you.” Natalie shook her head, doing her best to look innocent. “Are you from Loon Lake?”
“Colorado. I settled here after leaving the navy three years ago.”
Her gaze went to his white American foursquare home with its hip roof, black shutters and wide brick steps leading to the front entrance. The house seemed large for one person and she wondered if he’d planned to share it with someone when he’d invested in the property. Tavie had mentioned he lived alone. Again, not her business if he had a dozen girlfriends. “So have I changed your mind about those ornaments?”
“Not a chance, Ms. Pierce.” He took a step back as if needing to put distance between them. “Don’t waste your time on a lost cause.”
Great. She’d managed to kill the camaraderie they’d shared moments ago. She plastered a smile on her face. “I gotta warn you. I’m a champion of lost causes. A regular St. Jude.” Holding out her hand, she said, “Come along, Sam, I think we’ve taken up enough of Lieutenant Gallagher’s time for one day.”
Chapter Two (#u24534361-fb8c-5ee2-990c-421ecc2793bc)
Des watched them walk away and felt…what? Relief, that’s what you feel. He shook his head and limped toward the house. He didn’t need or want a woman in his life, especially one with a child. Sam was a cute kid and seemed bright and curious, despite his lack of verbal skills. No, this had nothing to do with Sam. His reluctance was all down to Natalie. She was making him feel things, think about a future he’d given up wanting a long time ago.
Natalie’s gingerbread men.
Halfway toward the house, he stopped. That plate of delicious cookies was still on his workbench. Heaving a sigh, he turned back toward the barn. Those were too good to take the chance of some critter getting them. He’d caught a crow hanging around the barn and had had small items go missing from his workbench. No proof the bird was the thief but he had his suspicions. Yeah, that wasn’t crazy or anything.
He retrieved his cookies, eating one on the way back to the house. In his mind’s eye he could see Natalie’s striking blue eyes, pert nose and Cupid’s bow lips that kept forming a smile. From the first words she’d uttered, her voice had grabbed him in the gut…and elsewhere. Damn. He needed to stop thinking about the beautiful Natalie Pierce. A blind man could see she was a white-picket-fence-kids-dog-soccer-practice type of woman.
He might have had a similar dream once upon a time, but it died the day he had to punch out of his aircraft. Those three seconds, the most violent experience of his life, had changed the course of his future. That was the amount of time it had taken from pulling the lever until he was under the chute. A textbook low altitude ejection. Except for the part where his parachute lines had gotten twisted and he’d lost precious time correcting them while plummeting toward the earth.
He’d hit the ground hard, shattering his left leg and fracturing his spine. After two surgeries and endless months of PT, he’d regained his ability to walk but not to fly jets. Although Ashley had stuck by him during his recovery, once she realized he’d no longer be flying jets, she began voicing concerns over their engagement. She’d said perhaps they wanted different things from marriage. Evidently being married to him wasn’t her dream so much as being the wife of an aviator. Any aviator.
As a last-ditch effort to salvage their relationship, he showed her the horse farm he’d stumbled across and had admired while visiting Riley Cooper in Loon Lake. Stupidly, he had thought maybe the beautiful family home and the prospect of having room for horses would appeal to her. At one time she’d claimed to be a horse lover, but she’d taken one look and said she hadn’t signed on to live in small-town Vermont. The place wasn’t even on Google Maps for heaven’s sake. She’d thought after a career in the navy, he’d work for a major carrier, they’d live in a metropolitan area and would take advantage of all of the travel perks. Yeah, she’d had their future all planned out, except he wasn’t sure where his wishes fit in.
Going into the house he’d gone ahead and purchased after their final split, he set the plate of cookies on the counter and slipped another one off the stack. He had a crazy thought that he would never confess under the threat of torture, but he swore he could taste the love Natalie put into her baking. He suspected she put her heart into everything she did. Sam, with his big grin, was proof of that. A woman like Natalie deserved someone who had a heart.
He glanced around at his state-of-the-art kitchen with its stainless-steel appliances, granite countertops and the off-white cabinets with glass inserts on the upper doors. The kitchen had been remodeled by the previous owner. When he and Ashley had toured the house, he’d figured the updated kitchen would be another point in his favor, but like everything else it had gone bust. So for the past three years, he’d rattled around in the immaculate kitchen using the refrigerator, microwave and coffeemaker.
Too bad he had nothing more than a dream kitchen to give a woman like Natalie.


Des set the pliers back down. His new piece had stalled and it had nothing to do with the fact that Natalie hadn’t returned for two days. Two days and no cookies, no pleas for him to make something for her auction. He’d listened for the sound of a car but all he heard was the silence. Silence was why he’d chosen this place. He liked silence. Huh, he and Sam would get along fine. It sure beat her chattering nonsense.
And he didn’t care if Natalie’s blue eyes reminded him of the adrenaline rush he’d gotten—and missed—when successfully landing his jet on the rolling deck of a carrier. He would’ve sworn there was nothing in the world to compete with going from one hundred and fifty miles an hour to nothing in the two seconds it took for the arresting wires to do their job. But looking into those clear eyes… He shook his head to shake some sense into it. What was he doing thinking that way about this woman? Hadn’t he learned his lesson? First his mother, then Ashley. How long would it take for Natalie to see the flaws in him?
His mother still lived in Colorado, in the bungalow he’d grown up in. Although he dutifully called on a regular basis to see if she needed anything, the answer was always no. But he called anyway, just as he’d contacted the man who’d fathered him and been rebuffed. So he lived half a continent away and used his acres as a buffer between him and the rest of the world.
Disgusted with his unproductive thoughts, he got up and put another log into the woodstove in the corner of his work area. They’d had some unusually warm days at the end of November, a truly long autumn, but December had come, bringing much colder temperatures.
Back at his workbench, he held up the piece he’d cut this morning when he’d first come to his workroom. The curve of the glass still wasn’t to his exacting standards. He’d have to redo it. Again. Maybe he should abandon adding the loon—except he’d gotten the idea the day Natalie had barged into his barn.
I follow through on my promises. Natalie’s words, in that lilting, slightly husky voice, taunted him as he worked.
Yeah, right. Forty-eight hours and she hadn’t been back. He tossed the piece of incorrectly cut glass into the box that held rejects. Those could be recycled and used another time. The pile had grown since yesterday, but he could use them in a future glass sculpture. Yeah, that was putting a good spin on the situation. He barely knew this woman and her absence for two days didn’t give him the right to mope.
I’m a champion of lost causes. A regular St. Jude.
Maybe he was one lost cause too many. Maybe Natalie saw the same thing in him that his mother did so that no matter what he’d accomplished, it wasn’t enough. It would never be enough because he wasn’t his half brother. Though he and Patrick shared the same mother, they had different fathers. He chose another piece of glass, determined to get this one right. His muse had returned and he wasn’t going to let a couple of mistakes stop him. He’d—
A car door slammed in the distance. He started to rise from the stool he’d been perched on but forced himself to sit back down. What is wrong with you, Gallagher? He ground his back teeth, but deep down he enjoyed sparring with Natalie, enjoyed being the kind of guy who could attract a wholesome single mother, even if that was temporarily. Even if it was because she wanted something from him.
“Hello? Lieutenant?”
His heart thudded at the sound of her voice and he scowled, angered by his reaction. Making a fool of himself was not on today’s agenda.
She appeared around the corner, her straight, blond hair billowing out behind her as if she were a model at a photo shoot. Once again she carried a tin in one hand and had a tight grip on Sam’s hand with the other. The boy’s bright blue eyes danced above ruddy cheeks as he held up a fistful of colorful candy canes and grinned. Des shifted in his seat and his throat clogged up with emotions at the sight of Natalie and her winsome son.
“Boy, it’s windy today. Don’t you think so?” she asked but didn’t wait for an answer before rushing on. “Sorry we’re late but we stopped at the store and well, you know how Tavie is. Talked our ears off, didn’t she, Sam? Anyway, that’s why we’re so late today. Have you wondered where we were?”
Only for two freaking days. “No.”
She stepped farther into the barn. “Sam’s pediatric neurologist wanted a colleague to exam him, so we drove to Montpelier.”
“What’s there to do for two days in the state capital?” Damn. He hadn’t meant to ask that and he detested the thread of need evident in his voice. What was that about not making a fool of himself?
“You’d be surprised at how much there is to do.” She gave him a blinding smile. “Maybe you should check it out.”
“Humph.”
“Grumpy again today? Maybe these will help.” She set the tin on the bench. “I made you my special homemade minty shortbread cookies dipped in chocolate and topped with sprinkles. Sam put the Christmas sprinkles on them, didn’t you, Sam?”
The boy grinned and nodded his head and Des bit back the snark that threatened to roll off his tongue. It wasn’t Sam’s fault he was such a dumbass around the boy’s mother.
“Huh, maybe I should’ve asked if you liked mint before I inundated you with it, but I see you ate all the bark, so I guess that answers that.”
She opened the tin and the scents of peppermint and chocolate wafted out. The green cookies were partially coated with chocolate and red, white and green sprinkles on top of that. They looked delicious, but Des scowled at them, refusing to be coaxed out of his mood by her or her baked goods.
“Problem?” Her gaze flicked between him and the cookies.
He fisted his hands to keep from reaching out and caressing her cute little frown. Or better yet, running his tongue over those furrows in her forehead. He swallowed a groan. “If I keep eating what you bring, I’m going to end up as a carnival sideshow.”
She broke into a wide, candid smile, transforming her from attractive to unforgettable. “Didn’t you get the memo? Calories don’t count in December.”
He grumbled but grabbed a cookie and took a bite, closing his eyes as butter, mint and chocolate exploded in his mouth. These were the best yet. No doubt left, he was a goner.
Natalie gave him an expectant gaze. “What do you think?”
That I’ve died and gone to heaven. He shrugged. “They’re pretty good.”
“So…” She met his gaze. “Have you given any thought to making ornaments?”
“Yeah,” he said and winced at the hopeful expression on her face. “The answer’s still no, but—” he held up the half-eaten cookie “—I applaud your effort.”
“Ah, you have a sweet tooth.” She gave him a smile that had him wishing he was the kind of man she deserved. “Good to know.”
“You can bring a whole bakery and the answer would still be no,” he warned and grabbed another cookie. He did not need her getting under his skin any further. The fact that he’d been looking for her for the past two days rankled. And she never quite answered why she’d been gone that long. How many appointments did Sam have? Yo, Gallagher, none of your business. So why was he fixating on it? She didn’t owe him an explanation, just as he didn’t owe her one for refusing to make Christmas-themed glass art pieces.
“But don’t you enjoy the feeling you get from doing a good deed?”
Give the lady points for tenacity. He shook his head. “It might alter people’s expectations of me.”
Instead of being cowed or annoyed by his surly attitude she seemed buoyed, ready to take on the challenge he represented. Des admired that. Yeah, admiration was a nice safe name for what he felt for Natalie Pierce.
“I must say, you’re quite the conundrum.”
“Really? I’ve always considered myself more of an enigma.” He handed a cookie to Sam and winked. Sam grinned and bit the treat in half.
“Tell you what,” Des said and popped the rest of the shortbread into his mouth, but it lost its appeal when her expression turned hopeful again. He was going to disappoint her, but he should be used to disappointing the women in his life. Not that she was in his life. Nope. He didn’t do charming. Why did he always forget that around her? “I’ll make a cash donation to this auction of yours.”
“Thank you. And don’t think I don’t appreciate it, but we would have more earning potential if you made ornaments. More people would attend if we were able to advertise that we’d have your exclusive crafts. Ones that you can’t get anywhere else. I don’t want to seem ungrateful, but more people would be bidding on them and that would drive up the price.”
“I thought it was a silent auction.” He tilted his head and raised his eyebrows in a “gotcha” gesture.
Natalie stabbed her finger at him. “Okay, you got me there, but when people see all the bids piling up for your ornaments, they’d bid higher.”
“Are you sure you’re not overestimating my appeal?”
She blushed. “I don’t think that’s even possible.”
His stupid heart did not stutter. What was he, fifteen? He cleared his throat. “You know I was referring to my art.”
She gave him a wide-eyed, innocent expression, but those baby blues shone with amusement. “Of course. That’s what my answer was based on. What did you think I meant?”
Sam tugged on her sleeve and she glanced down. “You’re right. It’s getting late.” She glanced up and met Des’s gaze. “He has another hippotherapy session today.”
He might not do charming, but he admired the heck out of the strong bond she had with Sam. “I wouldn’t want him to miss that.”
“Especially if it means getting rid of us, hmm?”
He held up his hands. Hey, even his jerkiness had its limits. “Honestly, I didn’t mean it that way. You said he enjoyed the sessions.”
“I was teasing,” she said and laid her hand on his arm.
Incapable of speech, Des couldn’t think of anything except that she was touching him. The warmth of her hand penetrating the flannel of his shirt had muddled his brain.
“Contrary to the popular consensus, I believe you have a lot buried under all that grumpiness, including a sense of humor.” She squeezed his arm before letting her hand drop.
As reason returned and he became capable of speech once again, he lifted a finger and wagged it. “See? That’s where you’d be wrong. I’m grumpy on the outside, morose and malcontented on the inside. Unlike you, I don’t do optimism.”
“Oh, my, you say optimism like it’s a communicable disease.” Her eyes sparkled. “And maybe I choose to see more in you.”
He snorted a laugh. Damn, too bad he didn’t do cute. Except that argument died a little more each time he saw her and soon that feeble excuse would be on life support. He shook his head and tried to arrange his face in a scowl, but for once those muscles refused to cooperate. His grin snapped back like a rubber band. “Then I seriously question your choices, Ms. Pierce.”
“Question them all you want, but it won’t change my opinion.” Sam tugged on her sleeve again and she nodded to him. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Making threats again?”
She exited the barn, leaving behind her subtle lavender scent and the echo of her laughter. What would it be like to be in her orbit? To know her so well that silent communication was possible?
Des sighed and cut the piece again. This time the curve was perfect. “Coincidence,” he muttered as he put the glass in place to create a loon rising from a lake. He believed in a lot of things but coincidence wasn’t one of them. Which meant he was in a whole heap of trouble.
Standing, he stretched his back and took a sip of coffee from the insulated mug as he eyed the tin of cookies. He was going to have to add time to his workout regime if he kept this up much longer. He reached for another cookie.
“Umm… Des?”
His head snapped up to find Natalie and Sam still standing in the doorway of the barn. The smile that had started at the sight of her slipped when Sam sniffled as if he’d been crying. Des jumped up and nearly tripped when his leg protested.
“What’s wrong? What happened? Is Sam okay?” His heart pounding, he ignored the pain in his leg to get to them. “Did he get hurt?”
“He’s okay… I’m okay…we’re both fine.” She waved her hand. “I didn’t mean to alarm you. It’s my car. It won’t start. I could call Ogle Whatley’s garage, but Sam’s session would be over by the time Ogle came out here and fixed it.”
Des exhaled, but his heart was still pounding. “Is that why he’s crying? He doesn’t want to miss his session?”
“I’m sorry. We didn’t mean to frighten you.” She appeared as distraught as her son. “I’m sure it must seem silly to you but—”
“It’s not silly when you’re five, is it, Sam?” He held out his hand to the boy. “Want to help me look for the jumper cables? I have some in my truck. If it’s your battery, it won’t take long to get you going. C’mon, Sam, let’s go take a look.”
He should resent having his work interrupted now that his muse was back, but the fact was, the sight of either one of them in distress made him want to help. And when Sam slipped his hand in his, Des had the urge to start whistling some stupid, sappy tune.


Natalie hung back as Des and Sam left the barn. She’d thought Des might be put out at having to help her, but he seemed strangely happy. Don’t read too much into it, she cautioned herself. Maybe he didn’t want to upset Sam. As gruff as Des tried to project, he’d been nothing but kind to Sam.
She followed them outside to where Des was pulling jumper cables from a locker in the bed of his pickup. Sam was standing on his toes, trying to see. “Sam, please don’t get in the lieutenant’s way.”
“Why don’t you get back in the car?” she suggested. Sam frowned and she added, “You can watch him from your seat. I’ll lower your window.”
“I think your mom has a good idea, bud. You might even get a better view than standing on tiptoe,” Des said.
After she made sure Sam was buckled into his car seat, she got in the driver’s seat and lowered her window. Like son, like mother? She shook her head, but couldn’t help gawking as Des leaned over the hood of her Camry to hook the jumper cables to her dead battery. To prevent drooling, she ordered herself to think about the cost of a new battery—and at Christmastime—instead of how luscious his butt looked, caressed by all that faded denim. But it wasn’t just his glutes making her mouth water. The stubble that peppered his face, the two-haircuts-past-due thick, black hair and the intense dark brown eyes all sent her pulse racing.
“Natalie?” Des asked, his tone laced with impatience.
Nothing like getting caught daydreaming about the super-hot naval officer. How many times had he called her name? “Sorry. What?”
“I’m going to start my engine and I’ll let you know when to try yours again. Wait for my signal.”
She nodded and he went to his truck. Once they got her car started, he came back and removed the cables, rolling them up as he walked toward his pickup. She was glad to see that his limp wasn’t as pronounced today.
Grabbing the roll of paper towels she had on the passenger seat, Natalie tore off a few. He came back to her car, and she offered him the towels through her open window.
“Thanks.” He wiped his hands. “Stay here while I shut the barn door.”
“Why?” She checked her watch. Sam’s session would be starting soon. “What are you doing?”
“I’m going to follow you and make sure you make it to the therapy place.” He spoke as if his actions were a given.
His concern brought delicious warmth to her insides. Again making her yearn for something she hadn’t even realized was missing from her current existence. Okay, maybe she’d realized it, but she’d been ignoring the vague discontent. There’s nothing missing. You have a full, satisfying life, she repeated to herself. And she did. So what if she hadn’t dated in the three years since Ryan’s death? Sam had been her top priority during that time. Ryan’s generous life insurance payout gave her financial stability and the nursery school in Nashville where she’d been employed part-time had permitted Sam to attend free of charge. Here in Loon Lake she’d met Mary Wilson through volunteering at the weekly payment-optional luncheons at the church. When the Wilsons’ summer camp cook had taken ill, she’d stepped in. The Wilsons had also allowed her to bring Sam and even invited her back next summer.
Full life or not, since meeting Des she’d wondered if she had room for more. Something more. Or rather, someone more. And that was disconcerting.
She stuck her head out the car window. “I’m sure we’ll be fine. I’ve already taken up too much of your time.”
He shook his head, his dark hair falling across his forehead. “Unless you plan on letting the car run the entire time you’re there, you might need another jump.”
She fought the urge to brush his hair back, to touch it to see if it felt as soft as it looked. “That wouldn’t be good for the environment, would it?”
“No, ma’am, it wouldn’t.”
She snickered at his use of ma’am. “Aha, I see what you did there.”
“So it’s settled. I’ll follow you.”
She’d love for him to come along, but she didn’t want him to see her and Sam as a nuisance. Yeah, as if he didn’t already, considering the way she’d barged into his life with her demands for Christmas ornaments.
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Besides, aren’t you the one trying to convince me to support this enterprise?”
That did make sense. “Are you saying you might be so overcome by what you see, you’ll do whatever I ask?”
Des dropped his arms and snorted a laugh. “Too late for that.”
A flush of warmth spread through her and she couldn’t contain her grin. Was he saying he felt an attraction, too? Was that a possibility? Des might act all gruff and surly but she suspected beneath all that he was a caring man bent on protecting himself. Don’t go spinning fairy tales, she cautioned herself. Des might be a case of WYSIWYG—What You See is What You Get. Yeah, the problem with rainbow optimism was that you often got your heart broken.
On her wedding day, she’d assumed they’d happily grow old together, but two years later a stranger’s careless actions had taken Ryan from them and changed the course of their lives in an instant. Because of it, Sam would have to grow up without his dad.
Ryan had convinced her to drop out of college when Sam was born. He’d had a decent paying job at a tech start-up in Nashville so her degree hadn’t been a priority then. Now she understood how short-sighted she’d been.
As much as she needed optimism, facing reality was key to planning for the future.
She waited for Des to come back and climb into his truck before she put the car in gear and made her way to the therapy center.
Conflicting thoughts vied for space in her head during the drive to the stable. She hardly knew Des. Or what had happened to make him keep the world at arm’s length. Few wounds healed without permanent scars. She’d have to be crazy to even try bringing him out of his self-imposed exile. She had enough on her plate with Sam, finishing her degree and starting a career, as opposed to the lower-paying jobs she’d had since Ryan’s death.
Last year, she’d inherited her grandmother’s summer home, a duplex in Loon Lake. After careful deliberation, Natalie had decided not to sell the place, but to move to the quaint town she’d remembered and loved from childhood visits.
Thanks to the inheritance she lived mortgage-free plus collected rent from the tenant on the other side of the two-family home. That monthly rent paid her utility bills and helped with upkeep. With Ryan’s generous life insurance payout, she’d been able to spend time with Sam when he’d needed her during his recovery and rehabilitation. But now was the time for a concrete plan for their future. Finishing her degree so she could get a decent job was the first step. She’d set aside a portion of the life insurance for Sam’s college fund and had refused to draw from it. Next year, when Sam started school, she’d have more time to devote to online studies or attend classes at the nearest university.
She pulled into the packed earth parking lot of the hippotherapy center and chose two spots together in case Des needed to jump-start her car again. She smiled. It was nice to think someone had her back. Even though she’d lived in Loon Lake for a short time, many of the residents remembered her grandmother and were friendly and helpful, treating her as if she’d lived there all her life. But it would be nice to know she had someone more permanent to share life’s ups and downs with. What was she doing? She barely knew this man, so no more spinning fairy tales.
Once the auction benefitting the equine therapy center was over, maybe she could still take baked goods to Des. And maybe he’d have to take out a restraining order on me. She laughed at herself as she turned off her engine and got out and opened the rear door. Sam scrambled out of the car and she held out her hand. He dutifully took it, but she knew the day was coming when he’d refuse to comply. She’d gotten into the habit of insisting on holding his hand because he couldn’t answer if she called to him.
He’d gotten away from her once when he darted under a rack of clothes in a department store. She’d frantically called to him, despite knowing he couldn’t answer. After five agonizing minutes that felt like fifty, she’d found him, but from that day forward she’d insisted he hold her hand in public. She suspected that his seeing her anguished tears that day had scared him and he hadn’t fought holding her hand since then.
Turning to Des, who’d parked and was getting out of his truck, she said, “I’m going to take Sam in to get saddled up. Over there by the fence is the perfect spot to watch his session.”
He nodded and she took off toward the barn with Sam.


Des leaned against the fence and studied the dirt arena where the sessions were held. He’d used his laptop the second day Natalie had visited to look up information about how hippotherapy worked. At the time he’d justified learning more about it because he’d planned to give Natalie a cash donation for her auction. It had nothing to do with wanting to learn more about the woman who’d barged into his life with an endless supply of chatter and baked goods. But it wasn’t the sweets that had invaded his dreams every night. She and her crooked-toothed smile, her big blue eyes and that sweet voice had kept him company the past few nights.
He caught movement in his peripheral vision and turned as Natalie made her way over to him. His heart kicked as it always did when he saw her, but her face lacked its usual sunny expression. The sight of her distress was like a blow to the chest with a two-by-four.
He wanted to reach out but forced himself to stand still, keeping his arms along the fence to keep from pulling her into his arms and crushing her against him. “What’s wrong?”
She heaved a sigh. “I found out the program’s financial situation is worse than I thought. The owner is close to being evicted from this place.”
“If they lose the lease, what will happen to the horses?” he asked, her unhappiness weighing on him.
“I don’t know. But without the horses, getting the lease paid up-to-date or getting the business on sound financial footing won’t matter. This place relies a lot on volunteers, but there are two part-time employees, in addition to the owners, who would be affected. I’d hate for anyone to lose their job. Not to mention, the nearest therapy center is three hours away.” Her bottom teeth scraped her upper lip in what appeared to be a nervous habit. “Driving that far for twice-weekly sessions would be out of the question.”
He shoved aside his urge to soothe that lip with his tongue. He needed to concentrate on practical matters, like finding out what sort of business operation was Natalie getting involved in? “How did this place get into such a financial bind to begin with?”
She gave him a sharp look. Yeah, his tone had been gruffer than he’d planned, but he didn’t want her getting hurt. Financial or otherwise.
“From what I understand, the owners are going through a contentious divorce,” she said.
“So raising money might not even help?” His instinct was to interfere in order to safeguard Natalie and Sam. But he had no right to feel the protective feelings that rose up. They’d known one another a short time. They weren’t even friends, just acquaintances.
“I had hoped raising funds would keep the horses safe and in place until something better could be figured out.” She waved at Sam, who was smiling proudly as he sat on his horse.
Sam looked at ease atop a seal-brown gelding with one white rear leg. Des considered Sam a sunny, happy child, and he could see how much pleasure he got from riding the horse.
Des cleared his throat. Did he want to bring this up? It was none of his business, but he’d be damned if he stood by and let her be harmed in any way. “You haven’t done anything other than organize this auction, have you?”
Her head snapped back and she narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“I’m talking about infusing this place with cash…as in, your own cash.” He curled his hands into fists on top of the cross posts for the fence, waiting for her answer.
She shook her head and raised a hand. “I would never ever do anything to jeopardize Sam’s future by putting money into a failing enterprise. And I don’t appreciate the inference that I would.”
He took her hands in his and winced at how cold they were. He rubbed them to try to warm them up. “I’m not accusing you of anything, Natalie. I wanted to understand what we’re dealing with.”
“Thanks. I’ve had a lot of support from family and friends ever since the accident, but sometimes, late at night when I’m alone, I second-guess all my decisions.” She grimaced. “I didn’t mean to snap, but sometimes guilt—warranted or not—makes me a bit defensive.”
He squeezed her hands. “I was worried about you pouring your own cash into a dying business.”
“No chance of that.” She shook her head and visibly relaxed. “I’ve been extremely frugal with our finances. I take my obligation to Sam seriously. I want him to be happy, but not to the point where I might jeopardize his future. I’m the parent and need to make the hard decisions.”
He let go of her hands. He barely knew Natalie so his relief at her answer was disproportionate to the situation. If she wanted to go bankrupt supporting a failing business that was her problem, but he admired her fierce protectiveness toward her son. As a kid, he would’ve given anything to have had a mother like Natalie. Heck, he would’ve been thankful for one who’d taken any interest at all. He cleared his throat. “What if nothing can be figured out?”
She frowned. “Are you always such a pessimist?”
“I’m a realist. I would think you’d be one, too.” He regretted the words as soon as they were out of his mouth. “Look, Natalie, I—”
“No, you’re probably right.” She turned to face the dirt track and Sam. “But I can’t think that way. I have to choose optimism. If that’s rainbows and unicorns, then so be it.”
When he didn’t respond, she brought her gaze back to him. “No comeback about my choices?”
He gave in to his urge, running his fingers across her cheek and tucking strands of silky hair behind her ear. “No glib comebacks. Sam’s one lucky guy to have you for his mother. Not all mothers practice the kind of unconditional love you have.”
“I like to think I’m the lucky one.” She smiled at Sam before turning her gaze back to Des. “So you believe not all mothers practice unconditional love? What makes you believe that?”
“I know they don’t,” he said, thinking of his own. He’d always known Patrick was the golden child but it wasn’t until after his brother’s death that—
She cupped her hand around his cheek. He should pull away because it wasn’t just her mothering he admired. How could she be offering comfort after his callous remark? What kind of woman did that? He leaned into her touch. What would it be like to pull her into his arms, let her warmth sink into those cold places inside him?
She started to pull her hand away, but he reached up and captured it in his. “I apologize for my comment. I may be an insensitive jerk but normally I practice my antisocial tendencies when I’m alone and especially not when I’m in the company of a beautiful woman.”
“Apology accepted.” She blushed. “After his session, Sam and I always go to the café in town. I hope you’ll join us. I want to thank you for getting my car started.”
“You should go straight to the garage and have Ogle check the battery. Your old one may not even have kept the charge.”
“You’re right,” she said and frowned. “I know I should’ve gone straight to Ogle’s but…” She turned her head to watch Sam, a tender expression on her pretty face.
He studied her profile as Sam and his horse continued to be led around the ring. Sam grinned and waved to them each time he passed. Des waved, but his attention was on the woman beside him.
“I see how much he enjoys riding,” he said.
“He’s calmer since he’s started spending time with the horses.” Her voice sounded resigned. “We’ve had our ups and downs. He gets frustrated and can be quick to anger but being around the horses soothes him.”
He reached for her hand again. “And what soothes you?”
“Me?” She stared at him, surprised. “I don’t think anyone has ever asked me that.”
“Maybe they should.” He touched her cheek with his other hand. “So tell me what you find soothing.”
She looked off in the distance as if trying to decide how to answer.
“I bet I know.” His hand moved from her cheek to her hair, unable to resist touching the corn-silk strands.
“Oh? What do you think it is?” she asked, sounding a little breathless.
He contemplated, stalling for time. Then something occurred to him. “Baking. I’ll bet baking soothes you.”
She seemed to be thinking it over, her gaze meeting his. “I believe you’re right, but how did you know?”
He cleared his throat and broke eye contact, glancing at Sam on the horse. “I can taste it.”
Before she could say anything, he pointed to Sam, whose horse was being led back into the building. “Looks like he’s finished.”
To his relief, her focus shifted back to her son. He was not about to admit his feelings about her baking.
After his session, Sam came out from the building and carefully made his way toward them. His gait was slightly stiff, but a huge grin split his face.
“You looked like a jockey up there on that horse, bud,” Des told him and held out his hand, palm up. The kid slapped it and although it seemed impossible, Sam’s smile got even bigger. What was it about this boy and his mother that called to Des?
“You did great, Sam, but I’m afraid I have some bad news for you. We won’t be able to go to the café like I promised. I need to take the car to Ogle’s garage for a new battery. We can get some snacks at Tavie’s store while we wait if you’re hungry.”
Even though the Loon Lake General Store was next door to Ogle’s garage, Des didn’t think a few packaged snacks were as much fun as going to Aunt Polly’s Café. And he was right; the boy’s face fell. “You like Polly’s pancakes, don’t you?”
Sam grinned up at him and nodded his head vigorously.
Natalie’s eyes widened. “How did you know that’s what he always orders?”
“Because having pancakes when it’s not breakfast is fun, right, Sam?”
Again, the boy grinned and nodded. Des answered with a wink.
Natalie put her hand on Sam’s shoulder. “I’m not sure how long it will take for the battery to be replaced, if that’s even what’s wrong. The café is only open for breakfast and lunch, but we’ll try.”
Des cleared his throat. “I have an idea. I’ll follow you to the garage and we’ll go to Aunt Polly’s while Ogle is checking out your car.” What was he doing? Did he suggest they go to eat? As in together? As in a public place? Not only would he be seen in public, but also with a woman and

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