It's That Time of Year. Christine Wenger
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wouldn’t say what she wanted to LeDoux. She wouldn’t ruin this event for everyone, especially Kyle.
Melanie took a deep breath. “I’d like to thank everyone for coming and remembering Mike. Kyle and I appreciate your support.” Her voice was quivering, and she swept her red mittens across her cheeks to wipe away her tears. “Thank you so much. Merry Christmas!”
The mayor guided the three of them to a redribboned pillar. On the pillar was a metal button that, she assumed, would light the tree.
Melanie positioned Kyle between herself and Samuel LeDoux.
As the Hawk’s Lake High School marching band struck up “O Christmas Tree,” Marylou Lang from the Adirondack Sentinel approached the bandstand, gesturing for the three of them to pose with the mayor for a picture. Then she wanted more pictures of Melanie, Kyle and Sam with their hands poised above the light switch.
“Closer.” Marylou waved her hand as she looked through her camera. “No. That won’t do. Closer. Melanie, take your mittens off and all of you put your hands on top of one another’s on the button.”
Kyle’s hand already hovered over the button. Melanie yanked her mitten off, pasted a smile on her face, and placed her hand over Kyle’s.
Her heart did a little flip as LeDoux’s warm hand closed over hers. He was too close. His aftershave drifted around her, a light cloud of spice and pine. Her mouth suddenly went dry. She didn’t want to feel the warmth of his hand, and she didn’t want to see his frosty breath mingle with hers.
She wanted him out of Hawk’s Lake.
Take the picture, Marylou.
In the background, the village counted down.
“Four…three…two…one…”
“Wow!” Kyle shouted as they all clamped down on the switch. Hundreds of bright colored lights illuminated the huge Douglas fir as the crowd cheered.
All Melanie could think of was getting away from there. Away from her thoughts. Away from Sam LeDoux, and this awareness of him that she couldn’t tamp into submission.
Melanie slipped her hand back into her mitten. In less than five seconds, shewas down the steps of the bandstand and heading for her car with her son in tow.
“Mrs. Bennett, please wait!”
It was LeDoux. Oh, why couldn’t he have stayed in Canada?
“Mom! Wait! I have to talk to Santa!”
It was finally Kyle’s voice that penetrated the red haze in her mind. What was she doing?
She hunkered down in front of Kyle. His eyes were wide and his nose red from the cold. “Okay, honey. We’ll go and see Santa.”
He relaxed and she stood up. Walking toward them was her brother Brian, looking puzzled. Sam LeDoux had stopped beside her, still too close for comfort.
“I was wondering why you were leaving so quickly when Santa’s coming to town,” Brian said to her. Turning toward LeDoux, Brian held out his hand. “Good to see you again, Sam.”
“Same here, Brian.”
They shook hands, and Brian looked from Melanie to Sam and back again. Brian must have noticed the tension between them, because he gave a slight smile.
She could handle LeDoux herself, darn it. Besides, after they’d all worked with him last year, her whole family sang his praises, Brian included, so they weren’t likely to agree with her feelings. She’d just keep silent and let her negative thoughts churn inside her.
Grand marshal or not, she wanted him gone. He was a reminder of her past, when she just wanted to focus on the future.
She smiled at Kyle. “Sweetie, how about if Uncle Brian takes you for some cocoa and cookies at the gingerbread tent? Then we’ll get in line to see Santa.” She turned to her brother. “Would you mind?”
“Not at all.”
“Cool,” said Kyle. Brian led him away, leaving Melanie alone with LeDoux.
Suddenly, she wanted to run as far away as her clunky boots would take her. He was too big, too real, making her think of him in ways she didn’t want to.
“Could we talk for a minute?” he asked.
Her voice shook. “I’m sorry, Mr. LeDoux, I’d rather not.”
“But I—”
“No. There isn’t anything for us to talk about, and it’s been quite an emotional night already.” The words hung in the air between them like icicles. “Goodbye, Mr. LeDoux.”
Chapter Two
“Wait! Mrs. Bennett…Melanie.” Sam jogged after her. He didn’t want to scare her. She already looked at him as if he carried some contagious disease.
She turned toward him, fire in her eyes. Her blond hair did a soft dance in the winter breeze. Her cheeks had a flush of color, either from the cold or from anger—most likely both.
The evening had started out so nicely when they’d first met, he’d seen the interest in her eyes, and he had felt the same awareness of her. Then the interest faded when she’d heard his name.
Sam knew darn well that everyone in Hawk’s Lake thought he was a hero—except Melanie Bennett. Well, he didn’t think so, either. He wanted to forget the past just as badly as she did.
But the only way he could forget the past—and himself—was to discuss it, and she didn’t want to do that.
“I’d like to somehow start over with you,” Sam said.
“Unless you can turn back the clock, that’s not possible. Just enjoy being Hawk’s Lake’s hero.”
He shook his head. “I’m not a hero. I was only doing my job.”
“Well, you didn’t do it very well, did you?”
Her words—and the pain in her voice—pierced his heart. Sam wished she’d at least let him apologize, let him explain. But how could he do that without casting a shadow over the memory of her husband?
Damn the timing of that ice storm. Another place, another time, and Sam would never have known that the Bennetts even existed. He would have simply answered the call from the Red Cross and hopped on a plane, ready for action.
Instead, last year he had flown in for the christening of Cal Lippert’s son, so he was already in tiny Hawk’s Lake in the middle of the Adirondack Mountains when the Red Cross called. As it turned out, he was in the perfect place to help.
That ice storm had changed his life forever.
Melanie glanced toward the crowded gingerbread tent as Sam fought the urge to grab her hand and escort her to some private place where she could yell at him until she was exhausted.
There wasn’t anything that she could say to him that he hadn’t already told himself.
But if it was all out in the open, maybe then he could find some peace.
He tried again. “Would you mind if we went somewhere private to talk?”
“My son wants to see Santa.” She turned and walked away without a goodbye.
He didn’t try to stop her this time.
With a sigh, he tried to focus on the moment, on the sights and sounds of the celebration around him. But all too soon the memories would surface again, knotting his stomach, and he’d question his judgment once again.
He couldn’t direct a crew or manage an operation when he couldn’t trust his instincts. It was too dangerous. Not for him, but for the volunteers—brave men and women who trusted him, who put their