It's That Time of Year. Christine Wenger
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Why was she so aware of every little detail about him?
“Hello, Melanie. I hope I’m not interrupting you.”
She turned her attention back to the doorjamb, trying to calm the flickers in her belly caused by his deep, sexy voice. “You are.”
Ignoring her response, he asked, “How did you become involved in fixing up antique cars?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. I guess I always liked restoring things to their original state—especially old things. My aunt Betty got me into restoring antique furniture first, and cars came next.”
Why was she telling him all this? She focused on the wood in her hands, preparing it for the jigsaw.
“I think it’s wonderful that you’re so successful at it.” He shifted on his feet, and Melanie figured that he had run out of things to say. “Listen, could I buy you a cup of coffee when you’re done?”
She moved her safety goggles into place and flipped the switch on the jig. It roared to life. Sam stood with his hands in his jacket, awaiting her answer. Couldn’t he take a hint?
“I already had coffee,” she finally said over the noise of the saw.
“Okay. Then how about dinner tonight?”
He couldn’t possibly be asking me out, she thought.
She shut off the jig and studied her cut. Perfect. “As you can see, I’m busy.”
“What about the tomorrow night?”
“Busy.”
To avoid looking at him, Melanie walked down to the other side of the car and inspected the grill. She already knew there was nothing wrong with it, but she measured it just for something to do.
As Sam walked toward her, Melanie felt heat rising in her blood. She told herself that it was anger, nothing more. It certainly wasn’t because he was so handsome and she could smell his outdoorsy scent. His friendly smile made her think of his sensuous lips.
Darn it. What was wrong with her?
The sound of his saddle-colored cowboy boots came even closer as he walked across the concrete floor. Unable to help herself, she looked up and saw that his black hair was windblown and damp from the snow.
A telltale blush crept up her neck and settled on her cheeks.
She waited until her father and brother were bent over the engine of Jack’s race car and out of hearing range before she spoke. “What do you want, Sam?”
In the overhead lights, his eyes were like the color of Hawk’s Lake in the summer.
“To talk.”
Melanie could feel him standing behind her, so she went back around to the other side of the car to get away from him.
He huffed out a breath, clearly frustrated by her refusal. “Look, I spoke with Cal. Since my presence is clearly making things uncomfortable for you, I tried to get out of being the grand marshal, but he said that they couldn’t get a replacement at this point.” He shrugged. “I just want you to know that I tried.”
Melanie froze. He’d actually tried to get out of being the grand marshal—for her? That was considerate of him. Maybe she was being too selfish.
Emotions were churning inside her, giving her a pounding headache. A nagging voice inside her chastised her for being unfair. Maybe listening to him would help her put the past to rest and make it easier for her to have a good Christmas with Kyle.
She sighed. “Okay, Sam…I’ll have dinner with you. Tomorrow night.”
He smiled. “Shall I pick you up? Seven o’clock?”
She shook her head. “I’ll meet you at Momma Luigi’s. It’s on Main Street.”
“I’ll find it,” he said. “It’s a date.”
“No, it’s not,” she said, ignoring the flush of pleasure that heated her face. “It’s just dinner.”
Sam found himself whistling as he drove back to the Pine Tree Motel in Jack Hawkins’s big white pickup, which he’d borrowed for the length of his stay.
He liked both Melanie’s brothers, and her father, too. He’d gotten to know them fairly well last year after the ice storm. They were hard workers, friendly and personable.
But he was attracted to Melanie—he couldn’t deny it. In fact, it was one of the reasons he agreed to return to Hawk’s Lake.
What had made Melanie decide to have dinner with him? Sam figured he’d just worn her down and she was sick of him asking. He could be tenacious when he wanted to be—really tenacious.
She looked sexy in her navy blue mechanic’s jumpsuit. It clung to all her curves. Her emerald eyes looked even bigger and greener through the safety goggles she was wearing.
And she’d finally agreed to hear him out—and for the first time in months, he felt a lightness inside his chest.
Later that evening, the snow was still falling in big feathery flakes as Melanie pulled her forestgreen Blazer into the parking lot across the street from the Hawk’s Lake Public Library.
She smiled down at her son. “We’re here.”
“Cool,” Kyle said, grinning. “I can’t wait to talk to Santa.”
“Santa’s only reading The Grinch today. You already talked to Santa last night.” She got out and opened the passenger door for Kyle, who quickly scrambled out of the Blazer.
“Hold it, mister,” she said. “It’s twenty degrees out.”
She pulled his hat down around his ears, gathered the hood of his parka onto his head and snapped it under his chin. With his sweet face framed in a circle, he looked like a little angel. She took his mittened hand in hers and walked to the street to wait for one of the town’s four snowplows to go by.
Pretty soonKylewouldn’t believe in Santa or the magic of Christmas. Soon he’d be too grown-up to take her hand to cross the street. She sighed. Funny, she thought, how time could be a friend or an enemy.
As they were about to cross, a big white pickup truck ground to a slow, sputtering halt before them. It was driven by…Santa Claus.
Kyle squealed. “It’s Santa, Mom! It’s Santa! What’s he doing in Uncle Jack’s truck?”
Santa got out of the truck, and it looked like he was about to let loose with an expletive before he saw them standing there. Familiar blue eyes met hers above the white beard.
Santa shifted on his feet, looking down. “Um…ho, ho, ho!” he said weakly. “Um…my reindeer are resting and my sleigh is being loaded by my elves, so a nice man by the name of Jack Hawkins let me use his…uh…sleigh on wheels. But there seems to be something wrong with it.”
Melanie knew that voice. That deep, resonating voice. It seemed to melt her bones every time she heard it.
Sam LeDoux.
“Santa, my mom can fix it,” Kyle said, eyes wide, looking up at the big man. “My grandpa says she’s the best car fixer in the whole world.” He swiveled to look at her. “You can fix it, right, Mom?”
“Um…yes…of course, I’ll take a look under the hood, honey.” She walked Kyle to a nearby bench and brushed the snow from it. “You sit right there and don’t move. There are a lot of cars driving into the library lot and it’s dark. This’ll only take a second.”
“Okay.” Kyle watched her with excitement glowing on his face, like his mom helping Santa Claus was the best thing that had ever happened.
Walking back to the truck, she flipped the lever and bent over to look under the hood as Santa—Sam—stood next