A Holiday Reunion

When Cody Hawk returns to Canyon Springs, Arizona, to make peace with his ailing father, his bad-boy reputation is still intact. So is his love for the woman he was forced to leave behind. But the privileged Paris Perslow is still off-limits. When Paris needs his help with the annual holiday gala, Cody braves the town’s disapproving glances for a second chance with his first love. Years ago Cody promised he’d return for her. But with everyone and everything against them, what will it take to prove to Paris that his love is the perfect gift?

Did she have the courage to ask him?

It made sense to go to the Christmas gala together, she told herself. She was the head of the committee. Cody was in charge of decorations. Who could possibly object?

“Do you have a tux squirreled away some place?” she asked.

He looked at her, a glint in his eye. “What would be in it for me?”

Paris caught the teasing tone. “Great food. Live band. The oohs and aahs as everyone admires how great you look in a tux.”

“You’ve never seen me in a tux.”

She raised a brow. “I have a vivid imagination.”

A smile tugged at his lips even as warning bells sounded in his head. He’d give anything to waltz Paris around the dance floor in front of the astonished faces of the town’s elite. But could he ever indulge in a dream like that?

She looked him straight in the eye. “So,” she challenged, “how about it, Mr. Hawk?”

GLYNNA KAYE

treasures memories of growing up in small Midwestern towns—in Iowa, Missouri, Illinois—and vacations spent in another rural community with the Texan side of the family. She traces her love of storytelling to the many times a houseful of great-aunts and great-uncles gathered with her grandma to share hours of what they called “windjammers”—candid, heartwarming, poignant and often humorous tales of their youth and young adulthood.

Glynna now lives in Arizona, and when she isn’t writing she’s gardening and enjoying photography and the great outdoors.

High Country Holiday

Glynna Kaye

www.millsandboon.co.uk

But the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid. I bring you good news of great joy that will be for all the people. Today in the town of David a Savior has been born to you; He is Christ the Lord.”

—Luke 2:10–11

For He has rescued us from the dominion of darkness and brought us into the kingdom of the Son He loves, in whom we have redemption, the forgiveness of sins.

—Colossians 1:13–14

Forgive as the Lord forgave you.

—Colossians 3:13

To Aunt Nancy—

Thank you for being a part of my life.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

Introduction

About the Author

Title Page

Bible Verse

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Chapter Twenty-Two

Chapter Twenty-Three

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

“Three weddings next month? Are you kidding me?” Paris Perslow cast a look of dismay at the wall calendar in the back room of her father’s real estate office on Main Street. The pastor of Canyon Springs Christian Church had to be out of his mind asking her to get involved with this. “December’s only a few days away.”

Outside the back window, a gust of wind swept snow through the towering ponderosa pines, filling the air with a reminder of the frosty holiday season. While it wasn’t by any means the first snowfall of the year in this Arizona mountain community, she wasn’t ready for winter.

Or Christmas.

Or Christmas weddings.

Another gust rattled the window, tendrils of cold creeping in around its wooden framework. She stepped away from the glassy panes, thankful for her cashmere sweater.

“My wife would kill me if she knew I was asking you to help.” The voice of Pastor Jason Kenton carried over the phone in an apologetic tone. “You know, because...”

Yes, she did know. Because both he and his wife, Reyna, were aware she’d stepped away from responsibilities as a volunteer wedding coordinator when her own dream wedding three and a half years ago had taken a tragic turn.

“I’m sorry about Reyna’s illness, Jason, but I don’t see how I could pull three weddings together on such short notice.” Not if they were anything like the over-the-top extravaganza she and her mother-in-law-to-be had once orchestrated.

“There isn’t much left to do,” he assured. “Jake Talford and Macy Colston have been planning their wedding since last spring. Sharon and Bill since the summer. And you know the Diaz clan—the whole family will be on top of Abby and Brett’s special day. You’d be more of a go-to person representing the church, a reassuring voice for jittery brides and grooms.”

Wasn’t that his job? She paced the hardwood floor, the powerful music of Handel’s Messiah that emanated from the CD player lending her strength to stand her ground.

“I don’t have the time....”

She’d scheduled church and community-related activities into her calendar months ago, including the Christmas charity gala for which she’d been voted the committee head. Dad, too, had expectations for seasonal entertaining. The holidays, even without a trio of weddings, could be exhausting when you and your widower father played a prominent role in the community.

A pang of apprehension shot through her. Dad wasn’t going to like what she intended to tell him after the first of the year...that she’d soon no longer be at his beck and call. That is, if she could garner the courage to make the break. Life away from Canyon Springs? Could she do it?

She had to.

“Would you be willing to think about it?” Jason coaxed. “Maybe pray about it?”

She could almost see his eyebrows rise in question as they often did during Sunday morning messages when challenging his congregation.

“I’m not sure I can commit to doing even that.”

“Taking this on may help you work through things,” he said gently, again broaching the issue they both knew stood between yes and no. “Weddings are meant to be happy times, Paris. A celebration of God joining two lives for His purposes.”

“I understand, but...” While it was difficult seeing others caught up in their happily-ever-afters, the real issue behind her reluctance was one which Pastor Kenton knew nothing about.

“No matter how brides try not to let it get to them,” he continued, “the tiniest of setbacks can throw them into a tailspin. But I have confidence you can help these gals keep the right perspective. Honestly, Paris, this shouldn’t take much of your time.”

A skeptical smile touched her lips. Maybe she’d better get his wife to confirm that. But Reyna hadn’t yet been released from the hospital in Show Low, and Jason had mentioned earlier in the conversation that she had a long way to go to recover from a serious bout of pneumonia.

“Could I get back to you tomorrow?” Why was she even saying that? She couldn’t allow herself to be sucked into a world of weddings and receptions and starry-eyed couples. Into a world where her “widowed” status drew misunderstanding and undeserved sympathy. But Reyna was more than the pastor’s wife, she was a friend.

At her words, Jason perked up. “Tomorrow? You’ve got it. And no pressure. I promise. Take a look at your calendar and see if you can fit this in.”

She knew what the calendar looked like and it wasn’t pretty.

“Reyna and I would both be forever in—” He brought himself up short with a self-conscious laugh. “No, no pressure. Think about it. Pray about it. I know this isn’t an easy decision to make.”

* * *

There it was again.

Cody Hawk averted his gaze, pretending not to notice, but it disturbed him just the same. The expression was fleeting, evasive. Sometimes curious, suspicious or even—could he only be imagining it?—silently accusing.

But above all, it was a look of recognition, one that had become annoyingly familiar since returning to his hometown of Canyon Springs two days ago. Not even Christmas melodies piped onto Main Street the morning after Thanksgiving or snowflakes floating through the air made it any more palatable. You’d have thought that after a dozen years people would have forgotten about him and gotten on with their own lives.

Squaring his shoulders, he strode across the street to the office of Perslow Real Estate and Property Management. A two-story natural stone building with a cheery pinecone wreath gracing the door, it exuded a rustic warmth suitable for drawing in newcomers to purchase or rent a piece of what was touted as a mountain country paradise.

Paradise.

The misnomer left a bitter taste in Cody’s mouth. The community might be a dream come true for those who had the financial means to buy their way into it, but it showed a much different side to those with lesser resources.

Sleigh bells on the office door announced his entrance, jingling as if delighted to welcome him. Not likely. He closed the door to block a blustery gust, then stuffed his gloves in his pockets, unzipped his jacket and pulled off his baseball cap. A faint tang of pine emanated from a half-decorated Christmas tree in the corner. Several boxes of ornaments and a rope of tinsel lay neglected at its base as if a holiday elf had been suddenly called away.

Although the waiting room was devoid of visitors and no one manned the front desk, he could hear the distinctive strains of Handel’s Messiah overriding a feminine voice coming from a partially open door. It was a one-sided conversation, as if someone was on the phone.

Had it really been a dozen years since he’d charged out of this place, boiling mad and head held high from having told his father’s boss—Paris Perslow’s father—what he could do with his job offer?

Dumb kid. He hadn’t been old enough or smart enough to know burning bridges could come back to haunt you. What was that parting line he’d tossed at Mr. Perslow that memorable afternoon? Just you wait and see. Someday you’ll be groveling at my feet. Sir.

Cody groaned inwardly at the sarcasm with which he’d laced that final word of his tirade. Well, he might be only minutes away from being shown the door, but what choice did he have?

Reluctantly moving to the seating area, he’d barely lowered himself into a burgundy leather chair when the final notes of the classic Christmas choral piece faded away as the woman in the back room wrapped up the conversation. Her lilting tones now clearly reached Cody’s ears.

A viselike sensation tightened around his chest.

It couldn’t be, could it? But that voice...

He stood and moved swiftly to the door. This wasn’t the time or place for a reunion. Not when anyone could walk in on them at any minute. Her dad. A coworker. Her husband.

“May I help you?” a melodious voice called from behind him as he reached for the doorknob.

He tensed, willing his heart to slide down out of his throat and back into his chest. Please let this be a cousin. A long-lost sister. With effort, he turned to look directly into the smoky-gray eyes of a woman far more exquisite than the girl he’d long remembered.

A soft charcoal sweater, jeans, English riding-style boots and dark brown hair pulled loosely into a low ponytail gave her the carefully casual appearance of an American aristocrat. High cheekbones touched by a whisper of rose and delicately arched eyebrows underlined the air of seemingly flawless refinement.

But he knew the satiny gloss on a too-tempting mouth camouflaged a scar acquired in third grade. She’d been running from playground bullies, slipped on a graveled walkway and cut her lower lip. He remembered the day well, his first at the new school as a fifth grader. He’d retaliated on her behalf by bloodying a few noses, got sent home...and forever lost his heart to Paris Perslow.

Or rather, Paris Herrington.

Mrs. Dalton Jenner Herrington III.

* * *

Heart pounding, Paris stared up at the boy she’d known since grade school. A man now. Tall. Muscular. Rugged. A shock of raven hair slashed across his forehead and the high cheekbones gave credence to talk of Native American blood in his ancestry. Sharp, black-brown eyes pierced into hers.

“Remember me, Paris?” His words, tinged with the faintest of Texas accents, held a note of self-deprecating humor as he no doubt recalled their last meeting.

How could she forget him? Not only had he been her self-appointed guardian from third grade onward, raising the ire of teachers, classmates and her father alike, but her last encounter with him had left her more than shaken.

“I’m sorry to hear of your father’s stroke, Cody.”

His jaw, graced with a five o’clock shadow even this early in the morning, hardened. “Bad situation.”

“Is he... Has there been any improvement?”

A humorless smile touched Cody’s lips. “He still can’t talk much. I’d say that’s an overall improvement, wouldn’t you?”

Paris flinched at the candid judgment. While the burly Leroy Hawk could be a charmer when he chose to be, his humor was sometimes biting and unforgiving. She’d often wondered why her father kept him on as an employee.

Clearly, though, there was still no love lost between father and son despite over a decade’s separation. Which wasn’t surprising. In elementary school, Cody had once furtively raised his ragged T-shirt to show her the ugly bruises—but only after he’d made her promise never to tell.

She hadn’t told.

But she should have.

Ignoring Cody’s harsh question, she restlessly moved to the Christmas tree and picked up a box of glass ornaments. “How is your mother holding up?”

Cody had adored Lucy Hawk, and Paris suspected that as a kid he’d deliberately drawn his father’s anger in an effort to protect her from the short-tempered man’s fists.

“Working too hard.”

She always had, and now Leroy’s health setback would make it even harder on her. Paris removed an ornament from the box and hooked a metal hanger into its loop. “I bought the wreath on the door from Dix’s. It’s one of hers. Canyon Springs is fortunate to have her working on the annual Christmas gala this year. She’s a true craftsman—a gifted artist.”

“I’ll let Ma know you think so.”

For several moments, neither of them spoke. What more was there to say that could be said? A tremor of awareness skittered as Cody’s dark eyes remained fixed on her, and she self-consciously hung the ornament on the tree. He’d always looked at her that way. It was in many ways the same look other men had long been known to give her—appreciative of her beauty. But with Cody there had been something else. A tenderness. An almost...reverence.

That had always been her undoing, and she’d long guarded against it. Abruptly she turned toward him. “I’m sorry, is there something I can help you with?”

He cleared his throat. “I’m here to see your father.”

Regarding Leroy’s job security? His insurance? His stroke wasn’t workers’-compensation-related. Everyone in town knew he’d blown last Friday’s paycheck on lottery tickets and booze, then when the multimillion-dollar winning number was drawn—and it wasn’t his—he’d suffered a stroke.

Her own father had seemed more agitated about the whole thing than she would have expected. Had he anticipated this visit from Cody, asking special favors for his father, maybe applying legal pressure?

“I’m afraid Dad left for the Valley this morning. He’ll be gone for a few days. Remember, this is a holiday weekend.”

Cody’s brows lowered.

“He left you here to watch over things?” His glance raked the office, then focused again on her. “All alone?”

Gazing up at the big man, a ripple of unease skimmed her spine. But that kind of thinking was preposterous. Cody might look menacing, but he’d never so much as attempted to lay a hand on her during the years she’d known him. Not even that last day when he’d stepped out of the darkness and frightened her half out of her wits with his crazy talk.

Nevertheless...

“Everett’s here. And Kyle. Or at least they’ll be back in few minutes.” She moved behind the receptionist’s desk, placing a barrier between them. She didn’t know Cody now. She hadn’t really known him back then, either. And although he’d never crossed any lines with her, he was a Hawk.

“I don’t,” he stated, “have business with Everett or Kyle.”

“Perhaps there’s something I can—”

“I need to see your father.”

“I’d be happy to schedule an appointment for Monday.” She did her best to keep her tone cheerful despite his terse responses. She’d warn her dad, of course, so he wouldn’t be caught unprepared.

Cody exhaled a resigned breath. “First thing Monday morning then.”

She opened the scheduling software program. “Nine-thirty?”

“There’s nothing earlier?”

You’d have thought she’d suggested high noon. He’d been an early riser as a kid, with chores to see to before he came to school. Maybe old habits died hard?

“Dad often works late in the evening with clients, so yes, nine-thirty is customary.”

“Fine.”

He didn’t sound as though it were fine, but she typed his name into the database. “May I let him know what the appointment concerns?”

“He’ll know.”

Did he have to sound so confrontational? That wouldn’t go over well with Dad. It didn’t go over well with her, either. Cody might never have had much patience with those in authority, but he’d always been more than polite with her.

As if coming to the same realization, he nodded toward the computer, his tone softening. “I mean, he’ll know I’m here about my father’s situation. I need to find out where things stand regarding his employment status and medical benefits.”

She nodded and made the note. When she glanced up, he was watching her with that look that had been typical of Cody since the first day she’d met him. Self-consciously she ran her tongue along her lower lip. Across the scar.

“Well, you’re all set,” she said with a businesslike clip to her words. “Nine-thirty on Monday morning.”

“Thank you.” He placed his ball cap on his head, zipped his jacket and started to turn away. Then he paused to look down at her once again. “So you’re filling in here while visiting Canyon Springs over the Thanksgiving holiday?”

“I live here. I’m a real estate agent.”

His expression darkened slightly.

“Was there something else?” She held her breath, the pulse in her throat racing as his gaze lingered, indecision flickering through his eyes.

“No.” He shook his head. “Have 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.

Chapter Two

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?”

Not many asked. Not many cared. But he knew Sharon’s concern, like Paris’s, was genuine, not merely fishing for gossip to share with neighbors who clucked their tongues at those no-good Hawk men. Dad couldn’t care less about their disapproval, but Cody knew it hurt Ma, even though she’d never said as much.

“He’s as well as can be expected.” Which meant Leroy Hawk wasn’t happy and was making sure no one else was, either. The wind shifted direction, whipping around them with a blustery gust. “You’d better get back inside, ma’am, before this wind knocks you off your feet.”

“Tell your mother she’s in my prayers. You are, too.”

“Thanks.” He’d willingly take any prayers he could get, for within hours of crossing the Canyon Springs city limits, anger and resentments he thought God had put to rest resurfaced. And now, finding Paris living here... He hadn’t expected the ambitious Dalton Herrington to settle down as a small-town doctor.

For a moment he thought Sharon might try to hug him, but apparently his expression prevented that. Instead, she fixed a look on him that said she understood more than he gave her credit for, then she headed back to her store.

Mrs. Dixon had always gone out of her way for his mother, for which he was grateful. It still galled, though, to know people were aware of your lack. That people—like Paris—knew you and yours were struggling and in need of a handout.

But, God willing, not much longer.

* * *

“Oh, sweetheart, this dress is breathtaking on you.” Saturday morning, the well-coiffed Elizabeth Herrington stepped back to better view Paris in the three-way mirror outside the dressing rooms of a Canyon Springs boutique. “If only Dalton were here to see you.”

Paris stiffened, avoiding Elizabeth’s misty-eyed gaze in the reflection before her.

“I don’t know...” She swished the skirt from side to side, the exhilaration she’d felt when she’d slipped into the floor-length gown evaporating at the mention of Dalton’s name.

She didn’t fault Elizabeth, though. Widowed not long before the loss of Dalton, she’d loved her only son dearly and generously included Paris in that all-embracing affection. Right from the beginning, when her mother died when Paris was fourteen, Elizabeth had stepped into her best friend’s shoes to comfort and guide, to treat Marna and Merle Perslow’s daughter as if she were her own. What could possibly have been more natural, more gratifying for her efforts, than to have the girl she adored grow up to marry her only son?

But Elizabeth’s fondness had been undeserved. She had no idea Dalton would still be alive...if it hadn’t been for Paris.

“I’ll think about it.” She turned her back to the sales associate to be unzipped.

Elizabeth frowned her disappointment. “It’s only a few weeks until the charity event. In this dress you’ll be the belle of the ball. It fits as if made for you, and the black velvet sets off your dark hair and fair complexion to perfection.”

That’s what Paris had thought, too. At first, anyway. Now the dress had lost its luster.

“Please hold this until you hear from me,” Elizabeth instructed the sales associate, not questioning that her instructions would be followed even if it might cost the boutique a sale. There were certain advantages to being a Herrington in this town.

Paris returned to the dressing room to change into her street clothes. As much as she loved Elizabeth, as good as Dalton’s mom had always been to her, would the dear woman ever let her live her life outside the confines of a relationship with her son?

Maybe this shadow world was Paris’s penalty for having attempted to go against family wishes three and a half years ago. Which made what she planned to do now—leave Canyon Springs—seem all the more disloyal to those who loved her.

Once outside the shop, Elizabeth motioned her toward Dix’s Woodland Warehouse. “Let’s take a look at Dix’s seasonal items. I love how it’s decorated this year. I think Sharon’s daughter has played a huge part in that.”

Newly married Kara Kenton was an interior designer, a local girl who’d escaped for a time to Chicago and made her mark on the world. Paris didn’t even know where she herself would start if given such an opportunity. She had many interests. Events planning. Gourmet cooking. Photography. Her unfinished degree was in elementary education. How could she choose?

Unlike yesterday, this morning the sun shone in a brilliant blue sky. Although still chilly, the wind had abated and Paris had donned a fitted wool blazer rather than a heavier jacket. Such crazy, patchwork weather in mountain country.

“Isn’t this wreath beautiful?” Elizabeth stopped to admire the door decoration as they stepped up onto the porch at Dix’s. “It would be perfect in my foyer, don’t you think?”

“If it’s not for sale, I imagine you can commission one from Lucy Hawk.”

“That poor woman, being married to that lowlife Leroy.” Elizabeth discreetly lowered her voice as she held open the door to the store. “He got what he had coming, but it will make life more difficult for her. Those sons of his haven’t lifted a finger to help, either. They should be ashamed of themselves.”

Paris bit back the impulse to defend Leroy’s youngest. But she couldn’t speak to what Cody’s intentions were. Taking sides with a Hawk—any Hawk—wouldn’t be advisable.

Once inside the store, they greeted proprietor Sharon Dixon who was dressed in a Christmas-themed sweatshirt, her head topped with a jaunty Santa Claus hat. Then they moved eagerly through the store to take in the abundance of Christmas wares mixed with the usual outdoor gear and general-store staples.

While Elizabeth wandered off, Paris moved to the Christmas tree in the center of the raftered room where tiny fairy lights and dozens of handmade ornaments were arranged in a heartwarming display. She had a collection of mountain-themed decorations and, as always, was eager to add one more. This year’s selection would be particularly special for her as, if all went as hoped, it would be her last as a resident of Canyon Springs.

“Parker will be in town for the holidays,” Elizabeth pointed out when she eventually rejoined Paris, her arms laden with Christmas merchandise.

“That’s nice.” Paris avoided her gaze. Dad had also mentioned Dalton’s cousin Parker a time or two in recent weeks, expressing pleasure that the up-and-coming attorney might return to Canyon Springs to partner in the same law firm with city councilman Jake Talford.

As if this town needed another lawyer.

But Paris wasn’t interested in being railroaded into a relationship with Parker Herrington.

“You are going to need an escort for the Christmas gala, you know.”

“Actually,” Paris said, “as the head of the committee this year, I’ll be behind the scenes more often than not, seeing to details of the event. I don’t want to be tied to someone with the expectation that I keep them entertained.”

Her best friend would be home soon and, as far as she knew, didn’t have a date for the gala, either. Maybe they could hang out together. As always, the high-spirited Delaney Marks would pitch in on anything that needed doing—like keeping Paris sane.

Elizabeth pursed her lips. “Parker is capable of entertaining himself and would be a strong complement to your talent for hosting social events such as this.”

“Elizabeth, I—”

“Ho ho ho!” a low, masculine voice called from the front door. “Look what I found, Sharon. Ma had a stash of finished ones out in the shed. There’s more in my truck.”

Startled, Paris turned to see Cody making his way to the checkout counter, his arms laden with beribboned wreaths. Hope sparked. If she could ditch Dalton’s mother, maybe now would be an ideal opportunity to talk to him regarding a unsettling phone call she’d received earlier that morning about his mother’s role in the Christmas gala. Considering the nature of that untimely call from a committee member, she should never have given in last night to what she thought was God nudging her to contact Pastor Kenton and agree to take on the weddings.

Elizabeth raised a brow disdainfully as she lowered her voice to a whisper. “Isn’t that one of those Hawk boys?”

“Maybe he’s here to help his parents.”

Elizabeth sniffed. “That’ll be the day.”

Sharon clapped her hands in delight. “Lucy had these made up? Why didn’t she bring them in? Customers are begging for more.”

“I imagine she intended to, but with everything that’s happened in the past week...” He shrugged, then motioned to the wreaths he’d placed on the counter. “Being kept in the cold shed, they still look and smell as fresh as you could hope for.”

“They do look nice. I’ll get busy calling people on the waiting list.” Still smiling, Sharon placed her hands on her hips and looked up at him. “Aren’t you the finest of Santa’s helpers, doll.”

With a laugh, she impulsively whipped off her holiday hat and stood on tiptoe to secure it on Cody’s handsome head. Startled, he glanced uneasily around the store, no doubt to ensure no one had observed the indignity of his impromptu elf act.

Paris couldn’t help but smile, but she didn’t anticipate the knee-buckling impact when his dark-eyed gaze collided with hers.

Chapter Three

Cody groaned inwardly. Not because Paris caught him with the silly hat on his head, but because she was more beautiful today than she’d been yesterday. How was that even possible?

He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as the seconds ticked, taking in her trim, shapely figure, the brightness of her expressive gray eyes, the delicate curve of her sweet mouth...

Then, coming to his senses, he broke eye contact when he realized she wasn’t alone. A frowning Elizabeth Herrington stood beside her. Her mother-in-law.

He sheepishly removed the ridiculous hat from his head, then handed it to Sharon. “I’ll get the rest of the wreaths out of the truck.”

“Do that, doll. I’ll move these to a back room. It’s warm in here with that woodstove blazing away.”

He nodded, his eyes averted from Paris, then headed outside. He let down the tailgate and lifted the lightweight tarp to reveal half a dozen more wreaths. Well, it could have been worse. It could have been Paris’s husband who caught him staring awestruck at his beautiful wife. Her mother-in-law catching him in the act was bad enough.

Mrs. Herrington was no doubt aware that Merle Perslow had warned him off more than once as a teenager and that a stipulation of that job offer twelve years ago included keeping his distance from his daughter. That’s what had set off Cody’s temper that day. That and the man’s patronizing air that he was doing the community a favor by hiring the son of Leroy Hawk to keep him off the streets and out of trouble.

He didn’t have long to wait until, from the corner of his eye, he caught a package-laden Mrs. Herrington and Paris exiting the store. Deep in conversation, the older woman didn’t glance in his direction, but Paris clearly spied him, then quickly looked away.

Counting slowly to one hundred to ensure they’d walked down the shop-lined street, he’d no sooner lifted the remaining wreaths into his arms when he saw Paris heading briskly back in his direction.

“Good morning, Cody.” Her voice came somewhat breathlessly when she halted before him.

“Paris.” He nodded an acknowledgment as he placed the wreaths back in the truck bed, his heart beating faster at this unexpected chance to speak with her.

“I’m sorry to bother you, but I got a call earlier this morning about your mother.”

He frowned. “My ma? Is something wrong?”

“I’m hoping not.” She clasped her gloved hands in front of her, her expression troubled. “It has to do with the annual Christmas gala. I’m the committee head this year.”

He was more than familiar with the event, but managed not to grimace. It was a charity dinner and dance that had been a community tradition since long before Cody’s family had moved to Canyon Springs. It was for a good cause, of course. But he’d been mortified more than once when his father insisted he line up with other underprivileged children to receive a token toy or item of winter clothing as society’s elite looked on benevolently, proud as peacocks of their generosity toward the community’s needy.

Needy. It was all he could do to keep his lip from curling at a word reminiscent of a poor Dickensian urchin timidly holding out a bowl for cold porridge. How he despised the image.

He cleared his throat. “You’d mentioned yesterday that my mother is helping. She’s making a few decorations, right?”

“More than a few, I’m afraid.” A tiny crease formed between Paris’s brows. “Some on the committee are concerned that, with your father’s illness demanding so much of her time, she won’t be able to fulfill her obligations.”

“Exactly how many decorations has she agreed to make?” Dad might not always make good on promises, but no one would ever accuse his mother of that. Maybe, though, he should have asked permission before carting off to Dix’s the stash of wreaths he’d found in the shed? He’d thought he was doing her a favor.

Paris slipped her hands into her jacket pockets. “Unfortunately, it’s more than that. She’s overseeing the decorating this year. The props. Christmas trees. Centerpieces. The works.”

He gave a low whistle. “I’m surprised she took that on, but I doubt she’ll be able to do it now. She’s at the hospital almost around the clock and there’s no telling how long Dad will be there. I suggest you look elsewhere for a volunteer.”

“That’s just it. She isn’t a volunteer.” Paris hesitated, as if reluctant to continue. “She’s been contracted for a design she submitted several months ago, and she received payment in advance for her time and materials.”

Cody flinched. He hadn’t expected that. His mother must have needed the money badly. Why hadn’t she told him?

“I can reimburse the committee, Paris. That’s no problem.”

Or it wouldn’t be if things worked out as he and his business partner hoped.

Paris offered a feeble smile. “That’s thoughtful of you, but the gala is three weeks from tonight, and I’ve been told nothing at the staging site has been touched in over a week. There’s always a last-minute scramble, but usually by this time things are coming together. A few committee members are concerned that she intended to have your father build the sets. And now...”

Leroy Hawk volunteered to do something of that nature? No way. Ma must have had another plan.

“If I reimburse the committee, can’t you get someone else to take over?”

A flicker of irritation lit her eyes. “I’ll certainly do my best if it comes to that. I know I should talk to your mother directly, but when I saw you here...”

With Dad’s situation demanding her every waking moment, Ma probably lost track of time. But he could tell this turn of events had unsettled Paris. The charity event was a huge responsibility on those young, slender shoulders.

“Let me talk to her. And don’t worry about it, okay?” He met Paris’s gaze with a firm one intended to reassure. “I imagine she has everything under control, but hasn’t had time to update the committee.”

“Thank you.” She tilted her head, the expression in her eyes conveying her gratitude—and reminiscent of the look she’d given him the day long ago when he’d flown to her aid on the playground. “Your mother has my cell phone number, but I can give it to you, too, so you can get in touch with me.”

He pulled out his phone and punched in the numbers she recited, then gave her his. But as he watched her head off down the street, he knew this exchange would be far sweeter if she wasn’t married to Dalton Herrington.

Back inside Dix’s, Sharon motioned for him to follow her to the rear of the store with his armload of wreaths. “I thought you’d fallen down a hole or something.”

“No, no holes.” Except for the gaping one in his heart.

Inside the storeroom, Sharon took one of the wreaths and placed it on an empty shelf. “How long will you be in town?”

“I’m not sure.” He handed her another wreath. “Dad’s situation is uncertain and I can’t talk to his boss until Monday. But there’s plenty to keep me busy at my folks’ place in the meantime. Ma hadn’t said a word about it, but Dad’s let things go since I left.”

“You know that I still check on her, don’t you? I make sure she’s doing all right.”

“It’s good to know there are people I can count on to make sure Dad doesn’t get out of line.” Cody grimaced. “Pastor Kenton does the same. Ma and I communicate through occasional phone calls he arranges at the church office. It’s better for Ma that Dad not be aware of that.”

“I figured you’d keep in touch with her. While life isn’t easy being married to your father, I feel certain Lucy hasn’t come to any physical harm. God’s kept watch.”

“He has. But He’s had help from the sidelines, as well.” Cody placed the last wreath on a shelf. Confession time. “This isn’t something I’m proud of, but the night before I left town I told him if he ever laid a hand on Ma, I’d find out about it...and come back to kill him.”

Startled eyes rose to his.

He met her gaze without blinking. “I meant it, too, and he knew it.”

Sharon offered a dry smile. “It sounds as if I have more to thank the good Lord for in regard to Lucy’s safekeeping—and your father’s—than I originally thought I did.”

“Amen.” Cody cracked a smile of his own. “And I don’t use that word lightly.”

She tilted her head in question.

“It’s a long story, but suffice it to say that my name is now recorded in God’s Book of Life.”

“Well, I’ll be.” Before he could stop her, she reached up to loop her arms around his neck and pulled him down for a quick hug. “Happiest day of your mother’s life.”

“And my old man’s luckiest.”

Sharon chuckled. “You’ve always been a good boy, Cody. Deep down, I mean. You had some rocky years and I know things were rough what with your father and those two brothers of yours setting the stage. This may never be a place you want to call home, but I know your mother’s thrilled you’re here now to help out however you can.”

He ducked his head. He wasn’t worthy of Sharon’s praise. He wasn’t in town because he wanted to be but because that scripture he’d come across last weekend had punched him in the gut. Anyone who does not provide for their relatives, and especially for their own household, has denied the faith.

Yeah, he’d seen to Ma’s needs as much as he could, as much as she’d let him. But God had impressed on him to be here as His representative in the flesh this time.

“Well, I’d better get going. There’s lots of work to be done at their place.” He needed to find out what was up with Ma and the charity event, too.

“You are a regular Christmas elf, aren’t you?”

“That’s me.” But they both knew this had never been his favorite season. It always brought too many reminders that he wasn’t as well-off as the other kids in town. Too many humiliating opportunities for his dad to send him around for handouts.

Sharon gave him an apologetic glance. “I’m sorry if I embarrassed you in front of Paris and Elizabeth with this silly hat.” She waggled her head to send the puffy white ball swinging.

He laughed and snatched it off her head, then popped it on top of his. “No problem. I’m sure I’m the most handsome elf this town has ever seen.”

“I imagine you’re the most handsome one Paris has ever seen.”

“I don’t know about that.” He handed the hat back to her. “I imagine her husband can hold his own—if supplied appropriate headgear, of course.”

Sharon’s forehead creased. “Her husband?”

“Dalton.” Why was she looking at him as if he’d lost his mind? “Dr. Dalton Herrington?”

“You have been gone a long time, doll.” She placed a gentle hand on his arm. “Paris never married Dalton. He died. Didn’t you know?”

* * *

“A tuck here and there and it will be a perfect fit,” Paris reassured Macy Colston late Saturday afternoon as they exited the Sew-In-Love shop where the final fitting of the young woman’s bridal dress had taken place. Low, slate-gray clouds once again hinted at a possibility of snow, the Northland’s weather changeable from one minute to the next.

“Thanks again, Paris, for stepping in to take over for Reyna. With all the traveling for my Hometowns With Heart blog and my family scattered across the country, I’ve probably depended on her more than I should. Hopefully I won’t infringe on your time too much.”

Paris patted the leather portfolio tucked under her arm. “Thankfully, Reyna is extremely organized. Your wedding will be utterly charming with the 1940s theme. I love that Jake’s agreeing to wear a fedora and has a friend with a vintage car. So dashing—and romantic.”

“He’s being a real sport. You have no idea the lengths a man in love will—” Macy brought herself up short, an apologetic look darkening her eyes. “I’m sorry, Paris. Of course you know. Hearing women babble on about their fiancés and weddings can’t be easy. Please forgive me if I’ve been insensitive.”

Paris shook her head, determined not to allow a stab of guilt to affect her response. “I love your excitement at God’s gift of marriage. That is in no way being insensitive to what happened to me.”

When she and Macy parted, Paris headed to her SUV where she paused to leave a phone message for Abby Diaz, suggesting a time for a face-to-face meeting. She’d already spoken with Sharon and hopefully assisting the two of them would be no more time-consuming than Macy and Jake’s wedding appeared to be.

With the strong possibility that she might be compelled to dive into decorating for the Christmas gala, she’d need every spare minute she could get. She should have foreseen that this could happen when she’d first heard of Leroy’s setback, and not agreed to take on the weddings.

She glanced at her watch. Cody hadn’t called yet. Had he forgotten he’d promised to talk to his mother? Should she call to remind him? No. That sounded teenager-ish, as if she wanted an excuse to talk to him.

But what she could do in the meantime was drive out to Pine Shadow Ridge, a gated community which Perslow Property Management oversaw. Its impressive clubhouse would once again be the site of the Christmas charity event. She could confirm that there was no sign of Lucy Hawk’s recent decorating activity. In fact, she should have confirmed it before speaking with Cody. What if that committee member was wrong? Sharlene Odel often thrived on conflict. What if things were right on schedule and Lucy took offense at Paris not trusting her?

Not far outside the city limits, Paris slowed to take a sharp turn before heading up a blacktopped, tree-lined lane. Ahead she spotted the stone gatehouse and the security gate where an older-model pickup nosed up to the wrought-iron barrier. The gatekeeper had stepped out of his shelter, shaking his head and motioning for the driver to back up. Harry Campbell knew all the residents and vendors authorized to come and go. Apparently this one didn’t pass muster.

Allowing adequate space for the truck to back up, Paris put the SUV in Park, adjusted the heater and settled in to wait. Hopefully Harry would get this straightened out quickly and she could be on her way.

But...wait. Wasn’t that truck similar to the one Cody had been driving? Turning off the ignition, Paris stepped out into the nippy late-afternoon air. A few snowflakes kissed her cheeks as she approached the gatehouse, and Harry’s polite but firm voice reached her ears.

“I’m sorry, sir, but like I said, you have to move. You’re blocking those who are authorized for entrance.” Harry glanced in her direction, then motioned apologetically toward the truck. “Sorry, Miss Perslow.”

At the mention of her name, Cody poked his handsome head out the driver-side window to look back in her direction.

“Paris, please tell this guy I’m legit. Like I told him, I’m here on behalf of the Christmas gala.”

Did he intend to personally check out the status of his mother’s work, to see how bad it was—or wasn’t?

“He’s legit,” she confirmed as she came to stand by the irritated gatekeeper. Then she cast a cool glance toward Cody, who flashed an I-told-you-so look in Harry’s direction. “It’s customary, Mr. Hawk, to have authorization in advance. Harry wouldn’t be doing his job had he let you in.”

No doubt Harry had taken one look at Cody’s weathered vehicle and decided this man had no business there. He’d know Leroy, of course, and could easily have gone to school with one of Cody’s troublemaking brothers. A Hawk was a Hawk in this town, with a one-size-fits-all reputation.

She nodded to the gatekeeper. “Thanks, Harry. I’ll vouch for him.”

But was that wise? She had to keep reminding herself that Cody might have been a much-maligned boy who’d always been kind to her, but she had no idea who he was as a man.

Harry nodded and returned to the gatehouse, then the massive gates slowly opened. She glanced at Cody.

“Do you know where you’re going?”

He shook his head and grinned, a heart-stopping flash of white teeth in his tanned face. “Why don’t you lead the way, Miss Perslow?”

Back in her SUV, endeavoring to quiet the now-skittering beat of her heart, she watched Cody ease his truck through the gate. Then she followed until he pulled over to let her pass. The tree-lined lane curved among pines and boulders, a gradual incline that wouldn’t give anyone too much wintertime grief. The majority of residents vacated after Labor Day, of course, not returning until early summer. But diehards remained throughout the year or returned on winter weekends to ski nearby slopes and cozy up to a roaring fireplace.

When they reached the top of the rise, the log-and-stone clubhouse came into distant view through the pines, but she took a sharp right turn down a narrow blacktopped road marked “Private.” When she finally reached the large steel structure where heavy maintenance equipment and supplies were housed, she shut off the engine and got out as Cody pulled in beside her.

As he approached where she stood next to the substantial building, his dark eyes assessed his surroundings.

“This is new. And I’m guessing that was the clubhouse I glimpsed before we turned off. The foundation was being poured about the time I left town.”

She’d forgotten he’d have still lived in Canyon Springs when the project was getting underway. Motioning to a door off to the side, she held a keycard to the security pad next to it. Cody reached for the latch and opened it for her.

“Thanks,” she said as she stepped into the dimly lit interior, noting that the workers had left for the day. She felt along the wall for the light switch just as Cody reached for it, too, his warm fingers brushing hers as together they illuminated the high-ceilinged space. She pulled back as a shot of awareness bolted through her.

Catching her breath, she pointed across the spacious interior to the far corner. “We’ve set up an area for your mother to work. Since you’ve come to take a look, I assume you’ve talked to Lucy?”

“I phoned her.”

Please, God, let Lucy be able to finish this project. This was supposed to be a special Christmas. My last one as a resident of Canyon Springs. But everything is snowballing out of control. Please?

She took a steadying breath. “And?”

“And...” Cody’s brows formed a sympathetic, inverted V. “She can’t follow through on it. Dad’s too sick. She needs to be there for him.”

“But she signed a contract. Accepted payment.”

“Yes, she’s well aware of all that.”

“Well, then, what—?”

“What am I doing here? I wanted to see how much she’s done.” Cody glanced toward the work area, then once again leveled a steady gaze on Paris. “And see how much I have left to do.”

Chapter Four

A soft, startled breath escaped Paris’s lips. Cody wasn’t sure if that was good or bad. All he knew was that it pierced his heart and made him more determined to make good on his mother’s commitment to the holiday gala. For Ma. For Paris.

She shot him a confused look. “You’re taking over for your mother?”

“She feels badly about letting you down. Being unable to fulfill a promise isn’t something she takes lightly.”

He still marveled that Ma said Dad had agreed to help out, to do the construction for her. That sure wasn’t the Leroy Hawk he knew.

“She asked you to do this?”

“I offered to do it when I realized how upset she was.”

When I sensed how upset you would be.

“But your mother is an artist.”

Cody chuckled. “That she is. And I’m not a half-bad one myself, if you’ll recall.”

He’d once garnered the courage to waylay Paris as she walked home alone from school one afternoon. He’d shown her a sketch he’d done while observing her from a far corner of study hall. The drawing was one of many where he’d done his best to capture her expressive eyes and her shimmering dark hair draping over her shoulders.

That day she’d stared for a long moment at the sketch he’d handed her, telling her she could keep it. She’d blushed furiously, thanked him, then hurried home without a backward glance.

Had she kept it? Or tossed it in the trash?

“You are,” she said softly, her cheeks even now tinged a delicate pink, “a very good artist.”

So she did remember.

“Ma has the staging designs worked out. All I have to do is build them. Everything will be true to the original plan the committee approved months ago.”

She glanced uncertainly toward the work area, then at him. “Don’t you have a job you have to get back to?”

He could tell it embarrassed her to ask. The older Hawk boys hadn’t been known to stay with anything long. Where were they now? In Texas again? New Mexico? Barry had been in and out of who knows how many marriages and had done time in jail for violation of a restraining order. Carson had been in and out of trouble with the law as well and fathered more than a few illegitimate children.

“I do have a job, but it’s flexible enough at the moment to let me remain in town a few weeks to help my mother. And you.”

From the look in her eyes, he shouldn’t have added that personal postscript. But it didn’t much matter whether she liked it or not. He wasn’t going to let Ma down and allow her reputation to be dragged down to the level of his dad and half brothers.

“Ma’s subcontracting the project to me. If you’ll make sure Harry the Gatekeeper knows I have approval so I can come and go here and at the clubhouse as time allows, I guarantee the staging will more than meet your expectations and your deadline.”

He’d do it if he had to work twenty-four hours a day.

Could she tell that he had no expectations tacked onto his offer of assistance? Neither of them had alluded to that long-ago night when he’d poured out his heart to her, but it hung like an invisible barrier between them. As much as he’d like to spend every moment of his time in Canyon Springs with Paris, even with Dalton out of the picture he wouldn’t attempt to insert himself into her world again as he’d done twelve years ago.

Doubt colored her eyes. “I’m not sure—”

“I’d say you could think it over and get back to me later.” He nodded toward the work area as his eyes remained locked on hers. “But there’s no time to accommodate much thinking, let alone much ‘later.’ I need to get crackin’. And you need to get on out of here and let me get to work.”

* * *

Cody’s authoritative words still echoed through Paris’s mind on Monday morning as she poured herself another glass of orange juice. They’d been spoken as if he were the boss and she an unwelcome intrusion on his valuable time.

You need to get on out of here and let me get to work.

She should have protested, should have told him the contract was with his mother, not him, and that the committee would make alternate arrangements. But what choice did she truly have with the gala now fewer than three weeks away? Bristling under the surface, she’d nevertheless obediently departed, stopping off at the gatehouse to inform Harry of Cody’s project work and to authorize the use of Lucy’s keycard.

She should be relieved. A decorating disaster had been averted at the midnight hour. Everything would be finished on time if Cody was true to his word, and there would be little need to interact with him. He’d made it clear he could handle it on his own and would brook no interference that might delay him in meeting his mother’s obligations.

So why was she feeling anything but relief?

“Something on your mind, sweetheart?” Her father rose from the breakfast table to gaze out at the thickly pined acreage from the French doors of his sprawling log home. It had been her home again, too, ever since she’d cut short her junior year at Northern Arizona University and returned when Dad had what he referred to as “my ticker episode.” After Mom’s death, he hadn’t taken good care of himself and had worked too hard. Following a heart bypass and a change in lifestyle facilitated by the diligence of his daughter, Paris hadn’t returned to school—a decision she was increasingly coming to regret.

Dad turned away from a light flurry of snow that lent the view a Christmas-card beauty. “You seem distracted this morning.”

“I’m mentally planning out my day,” she said lightly, instinctively knowing her father wouldn’t approve of Cody offering his services on behalf of the charity event. He’d hear of it soon enough, though, because she’d have to tell the committee tonight. Some—like Elizabeth—would doubt the wisdom of permitting him to take part. Trusting the job to the talented Lucy Hawk was one thing. A Hawk male was quite another.

She’d have to be prepared for pushback.

“Don’t feel obligated to help with those weddings,” her father stated, assuming that was the issue troubling her. “It’s okay to change your mind. There’s not a soul in town who would fault you for not lending a hand.”

“No, but...” Paris smoothed the cloth napkin in her lap. What Dad said was true. Anyone who’d read the local paper’s gushing front-page article in which her engagement had been announced—and later experienced the shock of Dalton’s death reverberating through the community—could guess at the pall which descended on her at the prospect of weddings.

“I think, though,” she continued as her father leaned in to kiss her on the top of her head as he’d done since she was a little girl, “it’s time I got over my aversion to weddings.”

That’s the conclusion she’d prayerfully come to Friday night and now, with Cody seeing to the decorating, she could once again conclude it was the right decision. Things had gone well enough with Macy on Saturday, hadn’t they? Except for those awkward moments when the soon-to-be bride apologized for her perceived insensitivity. Unfortunately, Paris’s strategy of wedding avoidance had only served to draw sympathy she didn’t deserve.

Dad studied her a long moment. Widowed fourteen years ago when her mother’s multiple sclerosis had finally taken its toll, he was a still-handsome man in his early sixties, his dark hair silvering at the temples. He’d caught the eye of more than a few women since Mom’s passing. But not only had he not remarried, he never dated, unless you counted occasionally asking a friend or business associate to accompany him to an event. Most often he went alone. Not that anyone could ever replace Marna Perslow, but Paris had always thought Elizabeth would be a perfect match. Why, after her husband’s death, had Dad never acted on what she sensed might be a mutual attraction?

Dad had to be lonely at times and that’s likely why he threw himself too fully into his work, a fact that worried her at the thought of leaving him on his own when she left Canyon Springs. This morning a crease had formed across his forehead when she’d mentioned Cody Hawk’s scheduled appointment and it hadn’t yet smoothed.

“Don’t let our good pastor pressure you,” he said. “Sharon is entirely capable of handling things on her own and the other two young ladies can call on family and friends if needed. Everyone in town understands the pain weddings bring to you.”

Actually, there wasn’t a soul in town who understood her pain. Not the true source of it, anyway. Would involvement with the weddings, as her pastor had suggested, help her heal?

Nevertheless, she nodded as her father headed to his study, then she checked the time. With the office assistant out again today, she needed to get there by eight to cover the phones and front desk. But she’d promised to give Dad a hand with paperwork for sales he’d be closing on this week, so she could conveniently be in the back room when Cody arrived at nine-thirty.

Why couldn’t she stop thinking about him?

She’d been surprised to glimpse him in church with his mother yesterday. But to her irritation, throughout the service—and afterward—she couldn’t keep her thoughts from wandering to that long-ago night when he’d told her he loved her. Had always loved her. Would love her forever.

She gave a soft, scoffing laugh as she headed up the stairs to her room. Teenagers.

But her heart beat more quickly as she recalled in excruciating detail how he’d stared down at her that night. How she’d leaned in ever-so-slightly toward him, certain he’d kiss her. Even though she’d dutifully turned him down, she’d been mesmerized by the powerful yearning in his black-brown eyes.

But he hadn’t kissed her.

Instead, he’d quirked a smile and stepped back as if pleased with what he’d read in her eyes. He’d brazenly delivered his line about her one day begging him to marry her. And then he was gone, leaving her stunned.

Cody had been clear on his long-term intentions that night. But what was he thinking now? And why did the prospect of his continued interest—or lack of it—unsettle her so?

* * *

“Thank you for your generosity, Mr. Perslow. But the Hawk family no longer takes charity. I’m more than willing to pay Dad’s share of the insurance premium.”

Cody sat across the desk from the owner of Perslow Real Estate, trying to figure out where the generous response of his father’s employer was coming from. He’d expected resistance, maybe even an argument, but neither had been forthcoming. Even though Paris’s father wasn’t obligated by law due to the fact that he had fewer than fifty employees, he seemed more than willing to make concessions to accommodate Leroy Hawk.

“That’s a commendable sentiment, Cody, but it’s a nonissue. This isn’t charity. I’d extend this offer to any employee who’d worked for me as long as your father has.”

Sixteen years. That’s longer than Dad had worked anyplace in his whole life. Even in Canyon Springs, he’d drifted from job to job for several years until Merle Perslow hired him on full-time when Cody was in eighth grade. Dad could be a diligent, skilled worker whose productivity outshone just about anybody—when he wasn’t on a drinking binge. Cody grudgingly handed it to Mr. Perslow for his willingness not to see Dad’s stroke as an opportunity to immediately kick him off the payroll.

Cody leaned forward. “I appreciate that, but you are aware, aren’t you, that my father’s situation may not be...” He hadn’t seen Dad yet—concerned that his sudden appearance might trigger another stroke—but he didn’t like to think of the robust Leroy as permanently disabled, his mental adeptness impaired and motor skills incapacitated. “His recovery is uncertain.”

His likelihood of survival was still unclear.

Mr. Perslow gave a brisk nod. “Then we’ll cross that bridge when we come to it, won’t we?”

This was odd. Genuinely odd. But Cody had prayed for days that Paris’s father would, if nothing else, be willing to let Cody continue paying his father’s portion—or all—of the insurance premiums. He’d prayed, too, that his dad’s position would be held open should he eventually be able to return, and that a paycheck would be forthcoming until it was determined if he had to go on permanent disability. Merle’s response was more than Cody could have hoped for.

He stood and extended his hand to the older man who also rose to his feet. “Thank you...sir.”

A faint smile touched Mr. Perslow’s lips as they gripped hands, no doubt remembering the last time Cody had been in this office and flung that term of respect less than respectfully.

“Will you be in town long?”

Why did that question sound more loaded than a casual inquiry? “For a few weeks at least.”

“I see.” The older man cut him a sharp look as he ran his hand through his hair. The flecks of silver weren’t the only thing indicating that twelve years had passed since their last meeting. He appeared older in other ways now. He was still trim and tanned, but there was a general air of world-weariness that had been present throughout their brief conversation.

Then, unexpectedly, a flash of the old Mr. Perslow lit his features as he pinned Cody with an uncompromising look. “My daughter’s heart is fragile. There’s someone else coming into her life now. Don’t mess it up.”

Cody’s eyes narrowed as the icy words hung between them. A warning. It was almost as if he knew Cody had lain awake the past two nights since learning Paris hadn’t married Dalton after all.

Even his days had been consumed with getting his head around this unexpected revelation. Sharon hadn’t mentioned Paris’s involvement with anyone, so Mr. Perslow could be lying about that. Then again, he wouldn’t be surprised if she was seeing someone three and a half years after the death of her fiancé. Men must have lined up around the block, waiting for a suitable period of mourning to pass so they could make their move.

Hadn’t he been contemplating that himself?

But now, as his resentful gaze met her father’s, it became suddenly clear why he’d been so accommodating of Cody’s requests on behalf of Leroy Hawk. His concessions had been a bribe to stay away from his daughter.

Before Cody could garner a response, the phone on the desk rang. Mr. Perslow frowned as he glanced down at the illuminated display, obviously irritated at the interruption. Then with a final cutting look at Cody he lifted the receiver, his tone at once warm and welcoming.

“Donald! Let me guess. Your wife has visions of a Canyon Springs Christmas dancing in her head and the two of you want to take another look at that condo.”

Cody quietly walked out into the hallway and closed the office door behind him. He should have known Paris’s father hadn’t gone soft, that his generosity held an edge. A cunning purpose.

A muscle in his jaw tightened as anger flared and a too-familiar sense of shame pressed in. It was the same feeling he’d had when Paris’s old man had caught him, at age sixteen, gazing longingly at the beauty of his fourteen-year-old daughter. In no uncertain terms, he’d let Cody know that a Hawk had no business “looking on the high shelf.”

Cody had continued to look, if covertly. But even that last night when he’d longed to cup her beautiful face in his hands, to kiss her trembling lips, he’d held himself back.

Remembered he had no right.

Now to have her father suggest he’d barge into Paris’s life and mess things up galled, and the fresh reminder that he was barred from pursuing her burned deep into his gut.

“Cody?”

The soft, questioning word echoed down the hall, jerking him from his thoughts. He turned away from the door, his spirits lifting at the vision before him. Hands on her slim hips, Paris’s wide gray eyes studied him with open curiosity and, even in blue jeans and a bulky fisherman’s sweater, she exuded a striking refinement, a delicate femininity. High-shelf material, indeed.

“Good morning, Paris.” She hadn’t been at the front desk when he’d arrived.

“Did everything go okay?”

“Your father’s been...very helpful.” He moved down the hallway to where she stood just inside the waiting room.

A dark brow rose. “I know you had concerns about your dad’s situation.”

“All addressed.” With an unacceptable rider tacked on.

“I’m glad.” She looked behind her where a middle-aged couple sat in the waiting area, admiring the Christmas tree. Then she again looked up at Cody. “Do you mind if we step outside for a few minutes?”

Although he hadn’t knowingly made any promises to Mr. Perslow, they had shaken hands and it wouldn’t bode well if her father saw him with Paris so soon after their conversation. Cody couldn’t risk the insurance for Leroy Hawk being cancelled. Not until he had time to assess other options.

Nevertheless...

“Lead the way.”

Chapter Five

Paris reached to the coatrack for her gray wool jacket.

“May I help with that?”

She glanced up uncertainly, but Cody’s kindhearted expression reassured. She nodded and he held out the coat behind her, taking care not to touch her as she slipped her arms into the sleeves.

“Thank you.”

She started toward the door, then stopped, returning to the front desk to pick up a lidded, holiday-designed box, about twice the width of a shoe box. What had gotten her so flustered that she’d almost forgotten what she intended to give Cody?

They stepped outside where snowflakes danced merrily in the air, almost in time to the holiday carols coming from the overhead Main Street loudspeakers.

“What can I do for you, Paris?”

He looked especially handsome this morning, but seemed somewhat on edge. Had things really gone as well with her father as he said they had?

She held out the box. “These are cookies for your mother to share with the hospital staff—and something extra for her, too.”

He took the box from her, his expression uncertain. “Thank you.”

“I remember her bringing homemade cookies those times my mother had to be hospitalized and how much the staff enjoyed them. I don’t imagine your mother has any time to bake right now, so...”

He still didn’t look as if he knew what to make of her gift. Almost suspicious, if she had to interpret his expression. But then life had probably taught Cody not to trust anyone.

“No, she doesn’t have much time for herself these days.” He placed his hand on top of the box. “She says the nurses have been great. Dad’s not the easiest patient to care for, so she’ll enjoy having something to give them as a thank-you.”

Good. He finally got it.

“I imagine your dad was surprised to see you, wasn’t he?”

“He...” Cody hesitated, as if unsure how his response would be taken. “He doesn’t know I’m here yet.”

Surprised, her brows arched. “You haven’t gone to see him?”

He gripped the box more tightly. “I drove Ma to the hospital in Show Low a few days last week and on Sunday. But we’re trying not to hit him with anything that might bring on another stroke.”

“Like you suddenly showing up after twelve years,” she said softly, the tension flickering through his eyes making her wish she hadn’t brought up the subject in the first place.

“Right.” He stared down at the cookie box and she could sense his emotions swirling through him. Dread at the thought of again facing his abusive father and shame that she might not think him a good son for putting off that inevitable encounter.

“I personally think that’s a wise decision on your and your mother’s part.” She placed her hand on his forearm and his head jerked up, his eyes searching for truthfulness in her words. “You have to put his well-being first. There will be plenty of time for the two of you to get reacquainted.”

Cody’s grip on the box relaxed a fraction.

“Ma’s mentioned to him a few times that I might come to visit. He doesn’t react one way or another, so we’re thinking I should stop in soon and see how it goes.”

“Hopefully well. I’ll be praying so.”

“Thanks.”

He glanced around, as if realizing they were talking in a public setting, as though suspecting someone might be observing their chat. What would be wrong with that? But she withdrew her hand from his arm and he took a step back.

He cleared his throat as his gaze again caught hers. Softened. “I’ve been remiss in not expressing my sympathy for your loss, Paris.”

Oh, no, not now. She didn’t want this conversation to be about her, about concern for her grief.

“I knew you’d gotten engaged four years ago and assumed you and Dalton married. Until Sharon Dixon told me on Saturday about the car accident.”

His mother hadn’t told him years ago? He hadn’t known when he’d come to her father’s office on Friday? Why ever not? Everyone in town knew about it.

“Dalton was a good guy,” he added.

“Yes, he was.” At least Cody wasn’t a gusher like many who assured her they understood her loss, who wanted to reminisce about her fiancé as a young boy, a teen, a man.

Cody lifted the lid on the cookie box, the mouthwatering scent of homemade molasses cookies sure to tempt even the strictest of dieting medical staff. A small envelope lay on top, inscribed to Lucy.

His smile quirked. “So you think you can trust me to get these to the hospital uneaten?”

Relieved at the change in subject, she playfully placed her hands on her hips. “You’d better, mister.”

The corners of his eyes crinkled. “Or what?”

“Or...I’ll tell your mother, and then you’ll be in big trouble.”

“That’s a threat intended to make me shake in my boots?” He grinned, then bumped the envelope with his finger. “What’s in there?”

“Gift cards to Wyatt’s Grocery and the gas station. I’m sure with the expenses your father is incurring and the many trips to—”

“Thank you, but Hawks don’t take charity.” Cody’s smile dissolved as he snapped the box lid closed and thrust it toward her.

Charity? What was he talking about? She gently pushed the box back, her eyes firmly meeting his. “This isn’t charity. It’s a gift for your mother to use where she needs it most.”

He opened the box again and extracted the envelope. “I’ll take the cookies to her, but not the gift cards.”

Confused at his reaction, she put her hands behind her back, refusing the envelope he held out. “I don’t want them back. You’re being silly.”

“You think so?”

“Your mother does nice things for people in this town and this is a small way of showing appreciation in a practical way.”

“I value your concern but, like I said, Hawks don’t take handouts anymore.” His jaw hardened. “If there’s anything she needs, I’ll see that she gets it.”

She folded her arms. Why was he being so stubborn? “This isn’t a handout.”

“Let’s not quibble over semantics, Paris,” he said quietly as he tucked the envelope in the snug space between her folded arms, then gave the box lid a firm pat. “I’ll see that Ma gets these. Maybe minus a cookie or two.”

He winked. But his attempt to inject humor fell flat with her.

“Please don’t be this way, Cody. You know I—”

“Your thoughtfulness is appreciated. Let it go at that.” He lifted his hand for a lighthearted salute, then turned away, the cookie box tucked under his arm as he headed down the street.

Stubborn, pride-filled man. Why was he acting as if she’d likened his mother to a panhandler on the street?

“Cody!” It was all she could do not to stamp her foot like a two-year-old in a tantrum.

He lifted his hand again in a parting wave, but didn’t stop or look back. Kept right on walking.

She drew an irritated breath. She hadn’t even had a chance to ask him how things were going with the Christmas project, if he still thought it doable or if she needed to recruit additional volunteers.

But she wasn’t about to chase after him.

* * *

Conscious of Paris’s exasperated gaze and guilt-ridden for not having yet visited his father, Cody climbed into his truck. He brushed the snow from his hair, hoping the high country didn’t get heavy snow while he was here. He had his eye on a new Ford F-150 but, with his vehicle in the shop, he’d been forced to commandeer one of his business partner’s old junkers. It couldn’t be counted on in significant snowfall.

He checked for traffic and backed out, but didn’t allow himself to glance in Paris’s direction. Then he pressed his foot to the accelerator and headed for his folks’ place.

He didn’t think of it as home.

Dad and Ma still lived in a double-wide trailer that they’d settled in when Cody had been in ninth grade and his half brothers—who only lived with their father when their mother periodically kicked them out of her place in New Mexico—were long gone.

Looking back, where had his folks gotten the money for a down payment? He wouldn’t ask. Better not to know. Leroy Hawk had done time in Texas for forging his employer’s signature when Cody was a second grader. Another time for attempted extortion.

How had Ma endured it?

He knew it was foolish, but he couldn’t help but feel responsible. When he was a kid he’d overheard her telling someone he was a preemie, but it didn’t take a mathematician to figure out his folks had to get married. Maybe if he hadn’t come along, Ma would have married someone more deserving of her.

Cody shook his head as he rounded a treed curve, the windshield wipers beating a sporadic rhythm against the lightly falling snow. By the time he’d entered school here midautumn of fifth grade, he’d been pulled in and out of schools in three different states and five different towns. It was amazing he’d managed to graduate at all. He owed that to his mother—and to his own stubborn streak.

And speaking of stubbornness... He glanced at the box on the seat beside him. Had he been wrong to turn down the gift cards for his mother? Paris meant well and he hadn’t intended to hurt her feelings as he suspected he had. God only knew how many people had slipped a little something extra to Ma in the years he’d been gone. After his departure from town, he hadn’t had much to spare for her at first. He should be thankful, not resentful, that people cared.

Paris couldn’t have known her thoughtfulness would push a hot button. Touch his pride. He’d overreacted.

Lord, I’ve got to stop taking things like this so personally, seeing it as a slap in the face every time someone is moved to an act of kindness on my or my family’s behalf.

As he pulled onto the property that his mother had optimistically named Hawk’s Hope in deference to a Canyon Springs property-naming tradition, his cell phone chimed.

“Yo, Trev. Any word yet?”

“Not yet,” Cody’s business partner, Trevor Cane, confirmed, “I hoped maybe you’d been contacted directly.”

He could picture his stocky, well-groomed friend pacing the tiles of his Phoenix patio. It would be a balmy sixty-five degrees down there today, quite a contrast to the mountain country a few hours north and six thousand feet higher.

Cody chuckled. “If I get the call, you’ll know when I know. That wouldn’t be anything I’d keep to myself.”

“I guess I’m getting antsy. Do you think we’ll hear anything soon or is that wishful thinking?”

Cody was antsy, too, although he wouldn’t admit it to Trevor. So much rode on this business deal, and hearing a “yes” would sure be the answer to a truckload of prayers.

“It might not be until after the first of the year. I advise you to sit back, relax and enjoy your family while you can. If this goes through as we hope, there’s going to be more than enough work to keep us both occupied for some time to come.”

“How much longer will you be up there?”

“At least until Christmas. Things are still touch-and-go with Dad.”

He glanced toward the trailer. He’d started cleaning up the property, clearing out old tires, broken equipment and other assorted junk. But there were repairs still to be made to the trailer itself, fencing and outbuildings. Maybe one day, though, he’d get Ma that cabin in the pines Dad always promised her.

Cody reached for the cookie box, then stepped out into the lightly falling snow. “Ma’s running interference between Dad and the hospital staff, trying to keep him calm and them from calling the cops.”

Nicotine and alcohol withdrawal and a stroke on top of that. Not a nice combo.

“But the good thing is—” Cody gave a bitter chuckle as he unlocked the front door and stepped inside, his nostrils flaring with distaste at the lingering scent of stale cigarettes “—his right arm is incapacitated, so he won’t be swinging it at me anytime soon.”

“Man, it had to be tough growing up that way.”

For almost a dozen years, he and Trev had been as close as God probably intended real brothers to be. He hadn’t had any contact with his half brothers since he’d been in middle school and they’d gone out on their own. But his friendship with Trevor had more than made up for that lack.

“Yeah, well, I guess this is where I’m supposed to say growing up like that made me who I am today. Right?” Cody placed the cookie box on the dining table.

Trevor huffed a laugh. “That’s one way of looking at it.”

It was the only way to look at it, otherwise it made no sense. No sense at all. Just like coming back to town and discovering Paris hadn’t married...

As if picking up on his line of thought, Trevor ventured deeper. “So, did that dream gal of yours and her hubby come home for Thanksgiving?”

Even though he’d long ago faced reality and dated a number of women since leaving Canyon Springs, when Paris had gotten engaged his friend and his friend’s new wife had been there to pick up the pieces. They’d reeled Cody back in when he’d foolishly acted out in ways for which he was now ashamed. Trevor and Maribeth had played an instrumental role in directing his steps toward God, for which he’d be forever grateful.

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