A Lot Like Christmas Page 3

  That sounded…intriguing. The idea of having a mentor guide her through the business side of things made her feel a lot less frightened of the prospect. “But they aren’t letting just anybody in, right? It wouldn’t be just signing a lease on space.”

  “No, there’s an application process. They’ve got more info on the website. I’ll jot it down for you.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it.”

  The bell over the door jangled and a herd of chattering, blue-haired ladies wandered in. The Casserole Patrol was a familiar fixture at Dinner Belles. In her tenure there, they’d opined on the love lives of literally everybody in town. Young, old. Didn’t matter. It was their favorite occupation. They consistently hoped that camping out in the back booth nearest the kitchen would somehow give them a leg up in winning the assorted betting pools Omar was constantly running on who would end up with whom. Plenty of people found the trio annoying. For Hannah it was like having her own, local version of the Golden Girls. That certainly didn’t stop Reed’s sales clerk, Brenda, from beating a hasty retreat to the stock room in back before they noticed her.

  “Reed Campbell, you are still on my poop list!” Miss Delia crowed.

  Hannah went brows up at this assertion.

  Reed didn’t bat an eye. “Now, Miss Delia, I can’t help Cecily wanted to have the wedding in Greenwich.”

  Miss Betty’s face fell. “I guess we can’t expect her to want to have the wedding here with her family all up north.” This was pronounced in a tone that suggested that “up north” was as bad as being from a third world country.

  If there was one thing the Casserole Patrol loved more than gossiping about love lives, it was watching those lives being joined in holy matrimony…and dissecting the weddings and receptions later for who might’ve hooked up with whom and who had a bun in the oven.

  Reed, ever the diplomat, put an arm around Miss Betty’s shoulders. “I’ll see if I can set up a time for you to see the wedding pictures.”

  Miss Maudie Bell, the third member of their trio, nodded in approval. “You do that.”

  “Is there anything I can get y’all before the rest of the knitting club arrives? The coffee’s already ready in the kitchen.”

  “If you could dig up a plate for these cookies we got from the bakery, that would be great, sugar.” Miss Delia patted him on the cheek and offered the box from Sweet Magnolias.

  “Oh, are those the new sugar and spice cookies?” Hannah asked.

  “They are,” Miss Delia confirmed.

  “I can vouch that they are awesome. Carolanne used me as taste tester the other night.”

  “Your sister certainly is a whiz in the kitchen,” Miss Betty declared, shuffling over to the window. “What is all this?”

  “I’m simultaneously spreading some Christmas cheer and the word that I am actually an interior decorator. I’m offering up my services for shops and homes for the cost of supplies.” Hopefully the small hand-lettered notes with her name and contact number at the bottom of the assorted window displays would net some more requests.

  “What a good idea. For home stuff, are you working with what people already have?”

  “I certainly can. Part of the fun of decorating is making something new and interesting out of what’s already on hand.”

  “I need to look into that,” Miss Maudie Bell muttered.

  “What, you can’t get Chester to help put up the tree?” Miss Betty asked.

  There’d been a bit of friction in the ranks since Maudie Bell had invited Chester Harkin to move in a few months before. Throwing a man into the mix had messed with the Three Musketeers vibe the ladies had going on.

  “Well sure, he’d put it up, but he’s a man, after all. Pretty is not his forte. And as the family is coming to us this year, I’d like to make a fine showing.”

  Hannah smiled. “I’d be happy to help you with that, if you’d like.”

  “I just might do that.”

  “When’s Chester gonna make an honest woman out of you?” Miss Delia asked.

  “Land sakes, it took me years to housetrain my first husband. Why would I want to go complicating things by marrying Chester?” Miss Maudie Bell unwrapped her scarf and began wandering back toward the cluster of sofas where the knitting club was due to have their meeting. “Besides, he hasn’t asked, and it’s kind of fun scandalizing the kids.”

  Hannah held in a snicker as Miss Delia wandered off. She realized the third Musketeer had lingered. “Miss Betty, was there something I could help you with?”

  “Could I hire out your services as a gift to someone else? I’ve got a friend who could really use a dose of Christmas cheer.”

  “I’d be delighted to help. What did you have in mind?”

  “Take off your shirt.”

  “I’m not some five-dollar date you picked up off base.”

  Ryan pinned Percy with a flat stare. “First off, I have never had to pay for my dates. Second, you said yourself you haven’t had a physical since Aunt Janie passed. Unless you want me to toss your bony ass over my shoulder and carry you in to the doctor fireman-style, you’ll take off your shirt and let me examine you.”

  Percy crossed his arms and glared. “I’m perfectly healthy.”

  “Then you’ve got nothing to hide. An exam will get Mom off your back and mine.” He’d spent the last two days trying to do a proper check-up on the old man and Percy had stymied him at every turn.

  “You scared of your little ol’ mama?”

  “Damned straight. She’s a helluva lot scarier than my CO.” Ryan could take yelling. He could take verbal abuse and dressing down. What he couldn’t take was his mother’s profound disappointment if anything happened to Percy on his watch.

  His uncle made a rude noise. “And you call yourself Delta Force.”

  Irritated, Ryan straightened. “Aunt Janie didn’t put up with this shit from you.”

  “Janie looked a helluva lot better in lingerie than you. And anyway, she’s not here anymore to make me.” His chin lifted in defiance, but Ryan caught the faint tremble in his tone and felt like an asshole.

  Her death had cut Percy off at the knees, and the man hadn’t recovered. There was no statute of limitations on grief. Ryan understood that well enough, even if the ones he’d lost had been friends instead of lovers. There’d been so many, and the burden of that stuck with him. He couldn’t imagine the pain of losing his other half. Not that he had another half. But fine. He’d stop pushing. For now.

  He zipped his medical bag closed again and tried to figure out how to steer the conversation away from this emotional quicksand.

  Percy, apparently, had other ideas. “You’d do better to spend your leave finding your own self a woman.”

  Unbidden, an image of Elf Girl popped into Ryan’s head, with those big blue eyes and that smile that wouldn’t quit. She was his absolute antithesis—all sweetness and light. And he had no business even thinking about the likes of her.

  “I don’t need a woman.”

  “Son, we all need a woman. ’Specially in the military. It gets damned cold in the desert. And the heart gets frozen besides. Has to, to do what you do.”

  That was the damned truth. There was no other way to survive the kinds of missions Special Forces ran. War wasn’t for the weak or emotional.

  “There’s no room for attachments in war.”

  “On the battlefield, no. But every man needs to be reminded of his humanity. A woman’ll do that.”

  Several members of Ryan’s team had wives and girlfriends. They kept pictures of them, tucked into their helmets or inside flak jackets. Most of those photos were frayed around the edges from all the handling. Some even had the faces all but worn away from stroking, seeking that grounding, that comfort, in the dark, desperate times. Their women were beacons of hope. The thing they were fighting to get home to.

  He’d never had that. Never wanted it. Oh, he had plans for finding a woman someday. After he got out of the Army, once he’d used h
is GI Bill to go on to medical school. But that was for the future, when he wasn’t spending his days up to his armpits in battle trauma. When he had bandwidth to think about something other than the mission or the brothers in arms he hadn’t been able to save. As medic, he faced down more death than most, and it was hard not to take a piece of every case with him.

  “Where’d your brain get to, son?”

  Ryan shook himself. “Nothin’. Just trying to remember how long it’s been since I had an actual date.” A lie, but now that he’d said it, he did wonder. He’d had the occasional bedmate for the night on leave, but the last time he’d had more than a physical release had been…damn. Three years?

  “If you gotta think that hard about it, it’s been too damned long.”

  As that hit too close to the truth, Ryan turned the tables. “What about you, old man? Have you thought about getting out there and dating again?”

  Percy looked at him as if he’d just suggested running stark naked down Main Street.

  Ryan couldn’t imagine how hard this had to be on him, but Percy needed to be nudged back into living. “It’s been two years.”

  The gnarled hand fisted. “I know how long it’s been since the fucking cancer took my Janie.”

  “She wouldn’t expect you to stay alone.”

  “That woman was the love of my life. I won’t insult her memory by looking for another.”

  Open mouth, insert foot. Ryan ran a hand over the hair he’d managed to get cut yesterday and wished he could take that back.

  “What’d Lou say about that truck?”

  Oh, yeah, he’d definitely lost ground in this battle of wills. He was grateful he didn’t have to lie. “The part’s on backorder. It’s supposed to be in early next week, so unless you expect me to hitchhike to my mama’s, you’re stuck with me for at least a few more days.”

  Percy grunted. “Reckon I can put you to work.”

  “Reckon you can.”

  “I still say you ought to get your ass out there and find a woman.”

  “And where exactly do you think I’m gonna pick up a nice girl for just a week or two?” No reason to mention he was blowing through the lion’s share of his accumulated leave to be here.

  “I don’t rightly know, but I expect if you pull your head out of your ass, you stand a much better chance of finding one.”

  The ring of the doorbell interrupted whatever sarcastic retort Ryan might have made. Just as well. They needed to get the hell off the topic of his love life. “I’ll get it.”

  Crossing over to the freshly repainted door, he tugged it open to find his cutie pie waitress from the diner standing on the front porch.

  Santa, you’ve got a helluva sense of humor.

  Chapter 4

  The cheerful, professional spiel poised on Hannah’s tongue evaporated as she came face to face with the soldier from Dinner Belles, who clearly was not homeless. He’d cleaned up, having showered, shaved, and gotten a haircut. And dear God, without that mountain man beard and several layers of smell, he was hot. A gray henley stretched across well-defined muscles and the close-cropped reddish-brown beard highlighted a strong jaw. Her fingers itched to trace it.

  Say something.

  “Hi!”

  One brow arched faintly.

  Okay so maybe she sounded a little like Will Farrell from Elf. But what was she supposed to say to the man? She’d treated him like he was homeless. How was she supposed to apologize for that assumption? Should she apologize? Or was this one of those gaffes she should just let go and pray nobody ever brought it up again? This was not a topic that Emily Post or Martha Stewart ever covered.

  “Can I help you?” His voice was a low rumble. Added to the unexpected hotness, the timbre of it seemed to reach out and stroke along her spine.

  Get a freaking grip!

  Needing one in a very literal sense, she clutched the ends of her scarf as if it were somehow an anchor in this extremely awkward social situation. “I’m Hannah Wheeler. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been sent by a secret Santa to decorate your house for the holidays.” She was too bubbly, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from babbling. “It’s this thing I’ve been doing around town—mostly window displays for local businesses, but someone asked me to stop by here to spread some Christmas cheer and—” Catching the glint of amusement in those serious chestnut eyes, she managed to cut herself off. “You’re not Percy, are you?”

  “I am not.” Again with the rumbly tones.

  Hannah’s knees wobbled. For heaven’s sake, girl, you act like you’ve never heard a deep voice before. Pull yourself together. Hoping she wasn’t drooling, she checked out what she could see of the dim interior. “Do I have the wrong house?”

  “Nope.” He stepped back, opening the door wider and gesturing her inside.

  She hesitated in the entryway, noting the scent of fresh paint and wondering what had been updated about the house. The whole place felt neglected and a little worn around the edges. Sad. Which fit with what Miss Betty had told her about its occupant. No wonder she’d been moved to intervene.

  Soldier Hottie led her down the hall. She tried not to stare at his butt, she really did. But his cargo pants displayed it so well. The sight of it forcibly reminded her that driving wasn’t the only thing she hadn’t done in more than a year.

  You are not breaking that streak right now and not with this guy. Eyes up, cupcake.

  She managed to jerk them skyward a second before her guide turned to gesture her into a living room. Spying the old man encamped in an ancient recliner, she forced her feet into motion and fixed a smile firmly in place. “Percy Gannaway?”

  “Yes?” He eyed her with all the wariness he might show a feral cat that wandered into his house.

  “I’m Hannah Wheeler. I’m an interior designer, and I’ve been sent as a gift to decorate your house for the holidays.”

  “Interior designer?” This from Soldier Hottie. “I thought you were a waitress.”

  She glanced at him. “I am also a waitress at the moment.”

  “That explains the utensil tree.”

  “It does, yes.” She couldn’t tell from his inflection whether he actually liked the little tree at Dinner Belles or not.

  A frown carved deep lines around Percy’s pinched mouth. “Who sent you?”

  Shifting her attention back to him, she dialed up the smile, remembering Miss Betty’s insistence on remaining anonymous. “I can’t tell. It’s a Christmas surprise.”

  Confusion and no little amount of suspicion darkened the old man’s face. “You’re not selling anything?”

  “No, sir. Just trying to spread some Christmas cheer. I came by this afternoon to find out when would be a convenient time to decorate.”

  He wanted to say no. The intention was written clearly on his face. So she pulled out the thing Miss Betty had assured her would change his mind. “I understand your house used to be one of the big showpieces in town come Christmas.”

  His expression softened a fraction. “My late wife loved Christmas. People used to come from all over to drive by our place.”

  “It was a helluva sight,” Soldier Hottie agreed.

  What exactly was his connection to Percy? Miss Betty had said he had no family, so who was this guy? Didn’t matter. She wasn’t here about him. As gently as she could, Hannah smiled. “She sounds like she was a lovely woman. Wouldn’t this be a nice way to bring back a piece of her for the holidays? A tribute to the season she loved so much?”

  Percy’s gaze turned speculative. “I haven’t much bothered with Christmas since she passed.”

  Oh, that made her heart hurt. She loved Christmas so very much. She couldn’t fathom not celebrating at all. “I know it can be difficult. My first few Christmases after my Nana passed were really hard. I get my love of the holidays from her and it simply wasn’t the same without her there, in the middle of everything. But my sister and I always make her special iced butter cookies, and it brings her a
little closer to us.”

  He went silent, his face shuttering, and she wondered if she’d gone too far. Maybe the loss was still too raw for discussion of traditions. Or maybe the fact that he had no one left to share those traditions with made his situation totally different.

  When Percy straightened, his jaw set in a stubborn line, she expected a Thanks, but no thanks. Instead, he nodded. “You know what? You’re right. She’d be disappointed I haven’t kept things up without her. Let’s do it up big. Pull out all the stops.”

  Hannah beamed. “I’d be absolutely delighted to do that.”

  “You’re gonna need some help. I’m not as agile as I used to be—damned bursitis. But Ryan here is more than capable. He can be your assistant.”

  “I can do what now?” Soldier Hottie—Ryan—lost that flat expression and unfolded his arms.

  “Help haul things out of the attic, string the lights, carry in the tree. It’s gotta be a live one. My Janie wouldn’t stand for anything else.” There was some kind of challenge in the gaze Percy fixed on him. “You did say you wanted to help out.”

  Why did she think there was something more to this whole thing than the simple words implied? “I don’t want to be a bother.”

  “No bother at all, young lady. We could both use a little Christmas spirit in our lives.”

  For just a moment, Ryan’s jaw tensed, as if he wanted to argue. Instead, he flashed a wry smile at Percy. “I guess you’ll have to hand over the keys so I can go pick up the tree.”

  “Sorry, I think you mean ‘we’,” Hannah interrupted. “You’re not picking out a tree without me.” Because, damn, if she was going to get the chance to really pull out all the stops, she was gonna make this house a Christmas showstopper.

  “My mistake.” The wry smile turned genuine as he shifted his attention to her.

  The punch of it nearly knocked her off her feet.