High Country Holiday. Glynna Kaye
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a good rest of your day, Paris.”
And then he was gone, the sleigh bells chiming a farewell as the door closed behind him.
Exhaling, she leaned back in the chair and closed her eyes.
Cody Hawk had returned to town.
But he wouldn’t be here for long. He’d made that clear. He had family business to take care of, then would disappear into the night as he’d done a dozen years ago. Thankfully, he hadn’t attempted to express condolences for the death of her fiancé. Nor had he made reference to their last meeting.
When he’d confessed he loved her.
She’d been certain he intended to kiss her that night and, to her shame, she’d wanted him to. But when she’d come to her senses and rejected the outpouring of his heart—as her father would have expected of her—he’d had the audacity to claim that one day he’d return to town and she’d beg him to marry her.
She hurried to the windows to peek between the wooden-louvered slats at a departing Cody. Collar turned up against the wind-driven snow and hands rammed in his jacket pockets, he crossed the street with that same mesmerizing, masculine grace he’d grown into as a teen. He’d been all male from adolescence onward and even the nice girls noticed. But while a nice girl might dream a dangerous dream, in a little town like this she wouldn’t dare throw away her—and her family’s—reputation for a boy with kin like Cody’s.
Paris herself had been more than aware of him those many years ago, aware of his slow, lazy smile and barely-under-the-surface interest evidenced in the way he looked at her. That look had both excited and frightened her youthful heart, for he was a Hawk. Forbidden territory for a Perslow.
She abruptly stepped back from the window, irritated at herself for gawking after the still-enticing man. She was twenty-eight years old now. He was what—thirty? He’d been living his life elsewhere, doing who knew what, far from the vigilant eyes of Canyon Springs. He’d probably been up to no good, just like his father and older half brothers. Dad always said even a shiny apple didn’t fall far from the tree.
But that didn’t mean it wasn’t tempting.
She returned to the Christmas tree where she picked up another ornament. She wasn’t a teenager now, given to indulging in silly daydreams. Cody would soon be gone and his return to Canyon Springs a mere blip on the radar of her life.
With an air of resolve, she slipped a hook into the ornament loop and placed it on the end of a branch. But before she could react, the too-fragile needles bent, sending the decorative glass ball tumbling to the hardwood floor where it shattered at her feet.
Cody strode to the old Dodge pickup, jerked open the door and climbed inside. Then he slammed the door and sat staring blindly out the snow-streaked windshield.
It was clear Paris couldn’t wait to send him on his way. He couldn’t blame her. How old had she been back then—almost sixteen? He’d been nearly eighteen and old enough to know better than to do what he’d done that night. He could still hear her soft gasp when he’d stepped out of the shadows where she’d been relaxing on the porch swing. He’d been desperate to speak to her before he left town, daring to risk being caught by her father.
Looking back, he was lucky she hadn’t called the cops.
And yet...for a fleeting moment, he thought he’d seen something in her eyes that sustained him with a glimmer of hope despite her firm but gentle turndown. It kept him going as he endeavored to turn his life around and become a man worthy of a woman like Paris. That is, until the day four years ago when he’d come across her engagement announcement on the front page of the online local paper.
Yeah, he’d been a dumb kid in more ways than one. He wasn’t that bright of an adult, either. He hadn’t spoken to Paris in twelve and a half years, yet he’d neglected to say it was good to see her. He hadn’t told her how beautiful she was. Nor could he bring himself to offer congratulations on her marriage into the Herrington clan.
Dalton Herrington.
Cody’s fists clenched involuntarily at the thought of the hotshot physician marrying Paris. But with Dalton’s professional status and upper-crust social standing in the community, he was exactly the kind of man she’d have been expected to marry. No surprises there. The future doctor had been in the same graduating class as Cody, likely finishing up medical school and heading into a residency program three and a half years ago. But even though he hadn’t been one to give Cody grief like others in the popular crowd, Cody didn’t want to think about them being a married couple who’d probably soon be starting a family of little high-class Herringtons.
For all he knew, they already had.
“Cody!” A sharp rapping at the driver-side window startled him back to the present.
He turned to find an auburn-haired, fiftysomething woman smiling at him and his spirits lifted as he stepped out to join her. Sharon Dixon, owner of Dix’s Woodland Warehouse, had always been good to his mom. To him, too, come to think of it. Funny how you forgot things like that.
The once-robust woman had lost considerable weight, though, since he’d last seen her. Had she been ill? His mother hadn’t mentioned it but, then again, after Paris’s engagement he no longer checked online to see what the pretty Miss Perslow might be up to, and forbade Ma to share any Canyon Springs gossip with him.
“As I live and breathe,” Sharon whispered, her former smoker’s voice as rough as sandpaper. “I’d heard you were back in town, doll. I’m sure your mother is tickled to pieces.”
He noticed she didn’t include his dad in that observation.
“Look at you. All grown up.” Her smile widened as she took him in from his booted toes to the baseball cap on his head. “I imagine you’re beating off the girls with a bat these days.”
He gave a dubious chuckle. “I can’t say that’s been much of a problem.”
“It will be if you stick around here for long.” She winked.
Right. While women elsewhere didn’t seem to have any objections to what reflected back at him in his mirror, he doubted any in this town would line up to compete for a guy who’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks.
“I’m glad our paths crossed today, Cody. I have something for you to give your mom.” She dipped her fingers into a jacket pocket, then handed him a check. “It’s payment for wreaths and table decorations she left on consignment last week. They sold out within days.”
He glanced at the amount on Dix’s Woodland Warehouse check stock, then raised a brow. He used to gather bags of ponderosa pinecones for Ma, but had no idea people paid that kind of money for homemade Christmas decorations. He pulled out his wallet and tucked the check inside. “I’ll see she gets this.”
When she wasn’t with Dad.
“I’ve hesitated to contact her with all that’s going on.” Sharon gazed at him with sympathy. “But I have customers asking about future deliveries. There would be guaranteed sales if she can find time to put together more wreaths. The greenery or pinecone variety both sell well. Those quilted table runners are popular, too.”
“Thanks. I’ll let her know, Mrs. Dixon.”
“It’s Sharon.” She wagged a finger at him. “I thought we went through this when you were a teenager.”
They had, but he still felt funny calling her by her first name. His Texas-born mama had been a stickler for proper etiquette, Mister and Missus being drilled into him from infancy. Not that his manners had made any difference in this town.
“I’ll give the message to her...Sharon.”
She studied him for a long moment, windblown snowflakes lighting in her hair. “How is your father?”