Season of Love

Amy Morgan is determined not to let her injury affect her love for dance. Moving to the tiny town of Barrett’s Mill, she takes over her aunt’s dance studio and begins to organize a children’s Christmas ballet recital. She just needs a little help from handsome lumberjack Jason Barrett. Charming and an all-around good guy, Jason volunteers to build the stage sets. Working together with the pretty ballerina forges a connection he never expected. But is Amy really ready to leave the limelight behind? It’ll take a few dancing candy canes—and a whole lot of faith—to bring them together in joy and love.

Barrett’s Mill: In the heart of the Blue Ridge Mountains, a family legacy leads to love

He wondered what it would take to make Amy Morgan laugh.

Then again, he’d barely been able to tease a smile out of her, and they’d been together most of the day.

Stopping by her office, he knocked on the frame of the open door. “Everything’s put away. I’ll be back Monday with those extra pieces we talked about.” He waved and began backing away. When she called out his name, he paused in the hallway. “Yeah?”

“Things were so hectic today that we never settled on your hourly rate.”

“I thought we agreed on zero.”

Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head in a skeptical pose. “Where I’m from, strangers don’t do things for free.”

“Huh,” he said with his brightest grin. “And here I thought we were friends.”

While he watched, the brittle cynicism fell away, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a wry grin. “I should warn you—I’m not the easiest person to be friends with.”

“That’s cool. I like a challenge.”

MIA ROSS

loves great stories. She enjoys reading about fascinating people, long-ago times and exotic places. But only for a little while, because her reality is pretty sweet. Married to her college sweetheart, she’s the proud mom of two amazing kids, whose schedules keep her hopping. Busy as she is, she can’t imagine trading her life for anyone else’s—and she has a pretty good imagination. You can visit her online at www.miaross.com.

Sugar Plum Season

Mia Ross

www.millsandboon.co.uk

There is no fear in love,

but perfect love casts out fear.

—1 John 4:18

For Grandma and Grandpa

Acknowledgments

To the very talented folks who help me

make my books everything they can be:

Elaine Spencer, Melissa Endlich

and the dedicated staff at Love Inspired.

More thanks to the gang at Seekerville

(www.seekerville.net). It’s a great place to hang out with readers—and writers!

I’ve been blessed with a wonderful network

of supportive, encouraging family and friends.

You inspire me every day!

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

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Extract

Copyright

Chapter One

Carpenter Needed.

Standing outside Arabesque, Amy Morgan studied the sign from the sidewalk in front of her dance studio, wondering if she should’ve added some details. Unfortunately, she admitted with a sigh, she really didn’t have any. She’d spent most of her life at the front of the stage, so she was well versed in choreography, costumes and toe shoes. The more practical elements of set design and construction, not so much. Now that her performing days were behind her, she’d have to learn the mundane aspects of the business, she supposed. She wasn’t exactly looking forward to it.

“So, you’re looking for a carpenter?”

Startled by the deep voice that came from behind—and far above—her, she spun into a wall of plaid flannel. Looking up, she saw that it led to windblown brown hair, tanned features and a pair of hazel eyes shot through with gold. When their owner smiled, they sparkled with honest male admiration, and her polite response flew straight out of her head.

Once she regained some of her usual composure, she carefully straightened to her full height, which was still a foot shorter than his. “Yes, I am.”

The smile warmed, and he offered her the biggest hand she’d ever seen. Covered in scars, some old and others more recent, it clasped hers with a surprisingly gentle touch. “Jason Barrett. My day job’s building custom pieces out at the sawmill, if you’d like some references for my work.”

“Amy Morgan.” When she registered his name more clearly, she asked, “Are you related to the Barretts who founded the town and run Barrett’s Mill Furniture?”

“Yeah, I am.” He pointed across the street to the trolley facade of the town’s famous diner. “I made the new planter benches for the Whistlestop and replaced the park benches and seats around the old gazebo in the square.”

Amy had admired the handmade pieces many times and was impressed with his obvious skill. “They’re very nice. You did them by yourself?”

“Start to finish.” Cocking his head, he grinned. “I take it that means you’re looking for someone who’s good at working alone.”

“And quickly,” she clarified with a sigh. “My uncle Fred was building sets for our production of The Nutcracker, but he hurt his back during our family football game on Thanksgiving Day. I’ve only got three weeks until the show, so I need someone who can pick up where he left off and get everything done in time.”

“Sounds doable. Mind if I check things out before I promise something I can’t deliver?”

Unlike my ex-fiancé, she grumbled silently. He’d promised her the moon and then bolted when she needed him most. Still, her schoolgirl reaction to this towering stranger bothered her. The last time she’d followed her foolish heart, it hadn’t ended well. Who was she kidding? she chided herself. It turned out to be a complete disaster, and she still wasn’t over it. But she was a dancer, not a contractor, which meant she needed someone’s help. If she waited even a day or two longer to give other people time to respond, there was a good chance the charming sets she’d planned would have to be trimmed back to something less elaborate that could be completed in time.

Being a perfectionist by nature, that simply wasn’t acceptable to her. “Sure. Come on in.”

“This is real nice, by the way,” he said, motioning toward the huge display window. It was decked out with a rendering of Tchaikovsky’s famous ballet in miniature, and she’d just finished framing the scene with twinkle lights. “Makes me wanna come see the show.”

“I hope lots of people feel the same,” she confided. “The studio hasn’t been doing all that well in this economy, so Aunt Helen turned it over to me, hoping some new ideas will bring in more business. I’m doing everything I can to make sure she doesn’t regret it.”

Pulling open the entry door for her, he said, “Helen gave classes here when I was a kid. My mom used to drag my four brothers and me here to get us some culture to go along with the hunting and fishing we did with my dad.”

The way he phrased it made her laugh. “Did it work?”

Spreading his arms out, he looked down at his clothes and battered work boots, then grinned at her. “Whattaya think?”

“I don’t know,” she hedged, tapping her chin while pretending to study him carefully. “Looks can be deceiving.”

“Not with me,” he assured her in his mellow Virginia drawl. “What you see is what you get.”

How refreshing, she thought as she led him into the studio. In her world, you never knew what was truly going on behind the performer’s mask. Here in Barrett’s Mill, it was a relief to find people who were content being who they were, rather than acting like something else altogether. Knowing that didn’t totally make up for the glittering life she’d left behind, but it helped ease some of the sting that had a way of sneaking up on her when she wasn’t prepared for it.

Putting past regrets aside, she surveyed her studio with a sense of pride for what she’d accomplished since Aunt Helen handed over the reins to her. After plenty of scrubbing, painting and refinishing, the original plaster walls and wide-plank floors had a fresh, timeless quality to them. The wide-open space was dominated by the stage, bracketed by faded burgundy velvet curtains she’d replace as soon as she had the money. Structurally, the platform was as sound as the days when she’d starred in her aunt’s dance recitals.

So long ago, she thought wistfully. If she’d known her ballet career would end before she was twenty-five, she’d have valued those productions more.

“This music is nice,” her visitor commented in a courteous tone that made it clear he’d rather be listening to something else. “What is it?”

“One of Mozart’s violin concertos. Number four, I think.”

“Pretty,” he went on with a grin. “It suits you.”

She wasn’t sure how to respond to that, so she didn’t say anything. As they made their way to the stage, she found herself appreciating the self-assured nature of Jason’s long strides. He was well over six feet tall, with wide shoulders and a powerful build to go with the outdoorsy history he’d mentioned earlier. He had a strong, solid look to him; it made her think of an oak tree that could stand up against any storm nature chose to throw at it. And yet he moved with a confident grace she envied. She’d give anything to walk that freely again.

When he stopped to look at the framed pictures displayed on the wall at stage left, she knew what had drawn his attention and braced herself for the inevitable question. He turned to her with an amazed expression. “This is you?”

“They’re all me,” she replied politely, the way she always did when someone asked. “Back in my performing days.” Sometimes, they struck her as being from another lifetime. Other days, she felt as if she’d just stepped off the stage after taking her bows. When she allowed herself to think about them, she missed those days with an intensity that made her wonder if teaching was really the right decision for her. The problem was, dance was all she’d ever known, which didn’t leave her with any other options. She’d simply have to find a way to make the best of things.

“I’m not an artsy kinda guy, but these are incredible. What’s this move called?”

Going to join him, she saw where he was pointing and did her best to smile. “An arabesque jump. It was my favorite to perform, so I renamed the studio Arabesque.”

His eyes roamed over the rest of the grouping and stopped on one of her dancing Clara in a youth production of the holiday ballet she’d chosen for this year. The photographer had caught her in midair, making her look as if she was flying. It was by far her favorite shot and the one she would have most liked to shred into a million pieces.

Staring at it for a few moments, he looked down at her with a remarkably gentle smile. It was as if he’d sensed her reaction and was making an attempt to ease her discomfort. “Incredible. How old were you?”

“Twelve. I’d been taking classes at a ballet school in D.C. for four years, and that was my first Christmas production.”

“Not really,” he teased, tapping his finger on a framed print of her as a six-year-old Rosebud. “I was here for this one, and I remember you.”

“You do not,” she huffed. “I barely remember it myself.”

“You came onstage after the other flowers,” he corrected her with a grin. “The older ones all stayed in line, doing their thing, while you floated around like a butterfly. They were good dancers, but there was something different about you. Not to mention, I thought you looked like the pretty ballerina in my cousin’s jewelry box.”

Amy felt a blush creeping over her cheeks, and she blinked up at him in total bewilderment. She’d always assumed boys that age were more interested in bugs and snakes than classical dance, and that he still remembered her all these years later was astounding.

Realizing she’d been staring up at him like a brainless twit in some old-time romance movie, she gave herself a mental shake. “I’m flattered.”

A slow, maddening grin stretched across his features, transforming them into something she was certain most women couldn’t resist. Fortunately for her, she’d been burned by a master, and she’d learned to be very cautious around the male species. Since you couldn’t accurately predict when they might turn on you, she’d learned it was best to avoid close contact with them whenever possible.

“So, let’s see what Fred left you with.”

Jason easily leaped onto the low stage, then reached back to offer her a hand up. More than a little jealous of his athletic maneuver, she shook her head. “I’ll just take the stairs.”

That was all she said, but compassion flooded his eyes, and he jumped down as easily as he’d gone up. “You’re hurt, aren’t you? That’s why you came back here, because something happened and you can’t dance anymore.”

His quick assessment came in a sympathetic tone that made her want to scream in frustration and weep at the same time. Getting a firm grip on the emotions he’d unleashed, she straightened her back as far as it would go and gazed defiantly up at him. She might have lost a lot of things, but she still had her pride.

“I’ve changed my mind about the sets,” she said curtly. “Thank you for coming in.”

He didn’t even flinch. Small as she was, most people backed off when she glared at them the way she was doing now. Apparently, Jason was made of sterner stuff, and she grudgingly admitted he had some grit to go with those rugged looks and killer smile. “You’re not getting rid o’ me that easy, Miss Amy Morgan.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“Wasn’t giving you any,” he reasoned, folding his arms as if daring her to argue with him. When she didn’t, he went on. “I admire anyone who can take a hit, then pick themselves up and keep on going. You’re tougher than you look.”

No one had ever spoken to her that way, so directly and with such obvious sincerity. Accustomed to people who fawned or blustered depending on the circumstances, she wasn’t sure how to take it. “Thank you?”

“You’re welcome. Mind if I ask what happened?”

She winced, but decided that since he seemed determined to work with her, it was easier to get the explanations out of the way sooner rather than later. “In a nutshell, two years ago I was driving back to D.C. and took a shortcut that turned into a patch of ice. Next thing I knew, I woke up strapped into a hospital bed, completely immobilized. They told me I had a fifty-fifty chance of ever walking again.”

“Guess you proved them wrong.”

“That was the plan.”

The response came out more tersely than she’d intended, but Jason didn’t seem the least bit fazed. “Good for you.”

Flashing her an encouraging smile, he offered his arm, and for some insane reason she took it. The old-fashioned gesture seemed appropriate for him while standing in this old building, dressed like someone who spent his days working hard. Now that she thought about it, he reminded her of the guy on the wrapper of her paper towels.

Only this lumberjack had a real twinkle in his eyes, and he’d managed to get past her usual defenses without any effort at all. That could only mean one thing: he was trouble. And she’d had enough trouble lately to last her the rest of her life.

* * *

Amy Morgan was still the prettiest girl he’d ever seen, Jason thought while he inspected the progress Fred had made on the set pieces. Some were partially assembled, but others lay in a heap backstage with hand-drawn schematics thumbtacked to them. Everything was still in raw form, with no paint or details at all.

It was a big job to complete in only three weeks, and with the holiday shopping season in full swing, it was all hands on deck filling custom orders at the mill in time for Christmas delivery. While he’d much rather be back in Oregon logging, his first obligation was to the family business. It wasn’t only Jason and his brother relying on it now. A dozen other people worked there, too, and closing the doors wasn’t an option for any of them.

But if he didn’t take on Amy’s project, who would? Everyone was busy this time of year, and being single, he had more spare hours than most. Each day she spent trying to find a handyman was another day of lost build time. If he didn’t step up, when someone finally did it might be too late, and she might have to cancel the show. Some of those kids were probably the same way she’d been, working hard and eager to get their turn in the spotlight. He’d feel awful if they lost out and he could’ve done something to prevent it.

“I know there’s a lot to do,” she lamented with a worried look. “Uncle Fred’s collision shop just lost a good mechanic to that new chain over in Cambridge, and he’s been working extra hours to keep up. He fit this in whenever he could.”

“Yeah, it’s tough.”

She seemed to think he was framing a no, and she stepped forward with desperation clouding her china-doll features. “I can pay you for your time. It wouldn’t be much, but you could use it to buy some nice Christmas presents for...whoever.”

For some crazy reason, Jason got the feeling she was trying to determine if he was unattached. He couldn’t imagine why she cared, but women were funny that way. A guy just asked you straight out if you were seeing someone, while a woman skirted the direct route and snuck in sideways. One of the many reasons he avoided getting tangled up with anyone in particular. He liked his nice, uncomplicated life just the way it was. Drama—especially female drama—he could do without.

Recognizing she was in a tight spot, in the spirit of the season he decided to give her a break and not yank her chain. “My shopping’s done, so I don’t need the money.”

Her dainty mouth fell open in a shocked O. “Are you serious? Everyone needs money.”

“I’ve got a little more than enough.” Grinning, he added, “And I don’t have a...whoever, so I’m good.”

That got her attention, and he watched curiosity flare in those stunning eyes of hers. Crystal-blue, with a lighter burst in the center, they made him think of stars. Wisps of light brown hair had escaped her loose bun, framing her face in a halo of curls. Dressed in pale gray trousers and a white sweater, she brought to mind the angel on top of his parents’ Christmas tree.

Dangerous, he cautioned himself. It was okay to admire a woman in a general way, but when he started comparing her to heavenly beings, it was time to take a giant step back and get a grip. Then again, the adorable ballerina she’d once been had stayed in his memory for twenty years. Gazing down at her now, he saw none of the joy on display in the framed photos on the wall. In its place was a lingering sadness that tugged at his heart, making him want to come up with a way to make her smile like that again.

And so, against his better judgment, he held out his hand. “I’m your guy, Amy. I promise not to let you down.”

She looked at his hand warily, then said, “The last time a man said that to me, it didn’t end so well.”

Laced with wry humor, her comment made him laugh. “He was a moron, and if I knew his name, I’d go tell him so.”

She studied him for a long moment, then her somber expression lightened just a little. It was such a subtle change, he couldn’t help wondering if she’d actually forgotten how to smile. “You know, I believe you. I’m not sure why, but I do.”

“About the talking-to or about not letting you down?”

“Both.”

Taking his hand, she sealed their deal with a shake that was surprisingly firm for someone so petite. Jason got the distinct impression that something important had just happened to him, but he wasn’t exactly sure what it was. One thing was certain: he wouldn’t be bored this Christmas.

The thought had just floated through his head when the sound of jingling bells announced another visitor at the front door. When he glanced over, he had to look twice. From where he stood, it looked like a larger-than-life nutcracker in a flashy soldier’s uniform was bobbing through the large front room on its way toward the stage. When it got closer, he was relieved to see that underneath it were very human feet, clad in tie-dyed sneakers that were a dead giveaway about who’d come in.

“Hey, you,” he greeted Jenna Reed, the town’s resident artist, with a chuckle. “Who’s your friend?”

When she set it down, he noticed it was almost as tall as Amy. “The nutcracker prince, of course. He’s not as big as the signs I made for the sawmill, but he’s got a lot more personality.” Turning to Amy, she said, “I know he’s not up to the standards you’re used to in the Big Apple, but what do you think?”

“It’s perfect for this show,” Amy replied with an approving smile. “And you shouldn’t sell yourself short. This guy is just what I had in mind.”

“Awesome.” Jenna eyed Jason with curiosity. “No offense, JB, but I’m used to seeing you out at the mill. You look a little outta place in here.”

“Finishing up Fred’s sets.”

“I forgot he hurt himself tackling your nephew,” she said to Amy. “How’s he doing?”

“Aunt Helen has all she can manage just keeping him off his feet,” Amy explained with a sigh. “The doctor said he needs to take it easy for at least a couple of weeks. It’s only been two days, and he’s already driving her crazy.”

Jason knew how he’d feel if he was laid up for that long, and inspiration struck. “Maybe I can knock down some of the pieces for him to assemble and paint at home. That’ll give him something to do, and your aunt can keep her sanity.”

Amy stared up at him with an expression he couldn’t quite peg, and he worried that he might’ve overstepped his bounds. Then she gave him a grateful smile, as if he’d come up with the answer to every problem she’d ever faced. Knowing he’d been the one to coax a smile from this troubled woman made him feel like a hero.

“That’s brilliant,” she said, “but are you sure you want to do that? I mean, you’d be making more work for yourself.”

He shrugged. “No big deal. If he’s happy, maybe he’ll heal up quicker and get back to the garage where he belongs.”

“And out of Aunt Helen’s hair,” she added with a nod. “I like the way you think.”

They were still staring at each other when Jenna interrupted with a not-so-subtle cough. When she had their attention, she shook her head. “Are you sure you guys just met?”

“More or less,” Jason hedged, figuring Amy wouldn’t appreciate him relating their first-meet story from twenty years ago.

“That’s funny, ’cause from where I’m standing, you’ve got that ‘known each other awhile’ vibe.”

“That’s crazy,” Amy huffed. “Not to mention impossible.”

The artist laughed. “I call ’em like I see ’em. Anyway, at least this time you stumbled across one of the good guys.”

“I thought they went extinct years ago.” There was more than a hint of bitterness in Amy’s tone, and he couldn’t help wondering what had really happened with her ex. Not that it impacted him in any way, of course. He was just curious.

“Not around here,” Jenna corrected her. “I think this is where they all landed.”

“I’ll have to take your word on that one,” Amy retorted as she passed by on her way to somewhere behind the stage that dominated the studio. “I’ve got your check in the office. I’ll be right back.”

Once she was out of earshot, Jenna stepped in closer to Jason. “I’ve gotten to know Amy since she landed here in town this summer, so I’m gonna do you a favor.”

Every trace of humor had left her expression, and he returned the somber look. “What kinda favor?”

“Leave the poor girl alone. You’re not interested in anything serious, and she’s had a really rough time the last couple years. She’s not up to any more heartache.”

“The accident, you mean.”

Jenna’s eyes widened in surprise. “She told you?”

When he repeated the gist of his earlier conversation with Amy, Jenna slowly shook her head. “I knew her a month before she told me any of that stuff. How did you get her to open up so fast?”

“It’s a knack,” he replied with a grin. “People like me.”

“Uh-huh. Well, watch yourself, big guy. Amy’s been through a lot of twists and turns, and her head’s still spinning. The last thing she needs is more trouble.”

“Trouble?” he echoed in mock surprise. “From me?”

“Don’t get me started,” she grumbled, as Amy reappeared at the back of the stage with her check. Jenna took it and without even glancing at it shoved it into the back pocket of her paint-spattered overalls. “Well, kids, it’s been fun, but I left my kiln going. The thermostat’s busted, so if I don’t keep an eye on it, it’ll burn my whole studio down. Later.”

After the door jingled shut behind her, Amy gave him a knowing feminine look. “She likes you.”

“She likes everybody. When you’re a freelance artist, it’s good for business.”

“Are you seriously telling me you’re not the least bit interested in her? She’s gorgeous and perky, and more fun than any three people I know.”

“You’re right about all that,” he agreed, “which is why Jenna and I are friends. But she treats me like an annoying little brother, and that’s fine with me.”

“Why? I mean, most guys I know would fall all over themselves to get her attention.”

In the cynical comment, he got a glimpse of who Amy had become while she’d been working so hard to establish her career. To his mind, it seemed as if she hadn’t enjoyed herself all that much since her early dancing days, at least not on a personal level.

Obviously, she’d spent way too much time with losers who didn’t know a remarkable woman when one was standing right in front of them. Sensing an opportunity to distinguish himself from them, he grinned down at her. “Well, I’m not like those guys. Before this show opens, I’m gonna do everything I can to make you believe that.”

Her eyes narrowed with suspicion, and she frowned. “You met me an hour ago. Why do you even care?”

“I just do,” he replied easily, because he honestly meant it. “But if you need more of a reason, call it Christmas spirit.”

With that, he began strolling toward the rear of the stage, stopping when she called out his name. Turning, he said, “Yeah?”

“You’re starting now?”

“Molly filled Paul and me up with one of her farmer’s breakfasts, so I’m ready to go. Thought I’d start by knocking down some of those bigger pieces that are already put together. Then I’ll haul ’em over to Fred’s so he can get started painting. Then I’ll come back and we can go over whatever plans you’ve got for getting all this done. Is that okay with you?”

Clearly bewildered by his quick pace, she slowly nodded. “Thank you.”

“No problem.”

She rewarded him with a timid smile, the kind that could sneak into a man’s head and make him forget all kinds of things. Like how he needed to be careful around this woman, because she was fragile and needed time to heal.

The problem was, something about Amy Morgan tugged at the edges of his restless heart in a way no woman ever had. And in spite of his misgivings, he wasn’t convinced he should even try to keep her out.

Chapter Two

“She does good work,” Amy commented, moving to the side to study the brightly painted nutcracker sign from another angle. “When Jenna and I first got to know each other, I was surprised there was such a talented artist here in Barrett’s Mill.”

“Must’ve been nice to find another creative type to hang with out here in the boonies.”

He’d nailed her feelings so exactly, she gaped at him in amazement. With his rugged appearance and carefree attitude, she’d never have guessed he’d be so perceptive. It made her wonder what other qualities might be hiding behind that wide-open grin.

Pushing those very personal observations from her mind, she dragged herself back to the task at hand. “I have to start advertising the show right away, so I’d like to get this guy set up out front. Would you mind helping with that?”

“’Course not.” Picking up the sign, he tucked it under his arm and motioned her past. “After you.”

The rough-and-tumble streets of Washington and New York had left her accustomed to fending for herself. Men didn’t typically defer to her this way, and she found his gentlemanly gesture charming. Southern boys, she mused as she walked through the studio. She could get used to this.

Out front, she stopped to the left of the door. “I thought he’d look best here, next to the window. What do you think?”

That got her a bright, male laugh, the kind that sounded as if it got plenty of use. “I’m about as far from a decorator as you can get. Lumber, saws, hammers, that’s me. You’re better off following your own gut on this one.”

His innocent comment landed on her bruised heart like a fist, reminding her of the last time she’d followed her gut—and the unmitigated disaster it had led her into. If only she’d kept to her original course instead of taking that shortcut, she’d still be on her way to becoming principal ballerina for an international company. Never again would she deviate from the plan, she promised herself for the hundredth time. Improvising had cost her everything.

Swallowing her exaggerated reaction to his advice, she focused on identifying the perfect location for her sign. Jason set it in place, and she considered it for a moment, then shook her head. “Jenna made him double-sided on purpose, and I want to make sure people get a good view of him from the sidewalk and the street. The idea is to draw them in so they’ll look at the other decorations and the playbill in the window. Try angling him this way.”

Demonstrating with her hands, she waited and then reassessed. “Now he’s too much toward the studio.”

After several more attempts, Jason plunked the sign on the paved walkway and rested an arm on top of his Cossack’s helmet. “You’re kidding, right? We’ve tipped this thing every way but upside down. You’re seriously telling me we haven’t hit the right spot yet?”

“There’s no point in doing something imperfectly,” she shot back in self-defense.

He gazed at her thoughtfully, and she got the eerie feeling he could see things she’d rather keep to herself. “That doesn’t sound like something someone our age would say. Who taught you that?”

“My mother. And she’s right, by the way. Perfection is the only goal for a balleri—ballet teachers.”

In a heartbeat, his confused expression shifted to one of sympathy, and he frowned. “You were gonna say ballerina, weren’t you?”

“I misspoke. Now, are you going to help me finish this, or should I do it myself?”

He opened his mouth, then closed it and shook his head. “You don’t want folks feeling sorry for you, I get that. Your life’s taken a nasty turn, and I respect what you’re doing to get it back together.” Moving a step closer, he added, “But you’re here now, and you don’t have to do everything on your own anymore. Folks in Barrett’s Mill are real fond of your aunt and uncle, and they’re gonna want to help you, whether you like it or not.”

“Including you?”

Warmth spread through his features, burnishing the gold in his eyes to a color she’d never seen before. When he finally smiled, for the first time in her life, she actually felt her knees begin quivering. If he took it into his head to kiss her, she was fairly certain she wouldn’t have the strength—or the will—to stop him.

“Including me,” he said so quietly, she almost didn’t hear him.

Struggling to keep her head clear, she pulled her dignity around her like a shield. “That’s really not necessary. I’m very capable of taking care of myself, and I didn’t get where I am by letting people poke their noses into my life and tell me what to do.”

Mischief glinted in his eyes, and he chuckled. “Me, neither.”

Because of her size, Amy was accustomed to being misjudged, underestimated and generally dismissed by others. Sometimes it actually worked to her advantage, lulling people into a harmless perception of her that masked her relentless determination until she was ready to bring it out into the open. By then, it was too late for whoever had dared to step in between her and whatever she wanted.

But Jason Barrett, with his country-boy looks and disarming personality, didn’t seem inclined to follow along. Instead, he’d taken stock of her and had apparently come to the conclusion that she didn’t scare him in the least. She’d given it her best shot, and it had sailed wide. So far wide, in fact, that the only sensible thing left to do was admit defeat.

“Okay, you win. This time,” she added, pointing a stern finger at him in warning. “But Arabesque is my business, and things around here will be run my way. Got it?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Tacking on yet another maddening grin, he went on. “But I’ve got an idea about how to balance this entrance display. If you’re done scolding me, would you like to hear it?”

The concept of someone her size hassling the brawny carpenter was absurd, and she got the distinct impression he was trying to get her to lighten up. Since he was bending over backward to be entertaining, she decided the least she could do was smile. “Sure. Go ahead.”

Propping the nutcracker in place against a shrub, he moved to the other side of the walkway that led to the studio’s glass front door. Holding out his arms, he said, “Imagine a nicely decorated Christmas tree over here. Then you could do narrow pillars with an arch over the top strung with lights and a sign telling people when the show is.”

“I don’t think Jenna has time to do another sign for me.”

“It’s just lettering,” he pointed out. “I’ll get some stencils and knock it out in no time.”

Squinting, she envisioned what he’d described. Since the sun went down so much earlier this time of year, people running errands on Main Street after work would be drawn to Arabesque, just the way she was hoping. They’d come over to check out the cheery display window and get a look inside the freshly redecorated studio. Not only would it boost attendance for The Nutcracker, it might gain her some new students. Profits were the name of the new game she was playing, and anything that had the potential to bring in customers was worth a try.

“I like it,” she announced. “When do you think you can have it done?”

“How’s Monday afternoon sound?”

She had no idea how much work was involved in what he’d described, but he sounded so confident, she didn’t even consider questioning the quick turnaround. “Perfect. Thank you.”

Plunging his hands into the front pockets of his well-worn jeans, he said, “I oughta warn you, it probably won’t be perfect. But I can promise you it’ll be good enough to do the job.”

“Like you?”

“And you.” Slinging the wooden soldier over his shoulder, he gazed down at her. “For most of us, that’s enough.”

“Not for me,” she assured him. “I don’t stop until whatever I’m doing can’t possibly be any better.”

“We’ve all got flaws, y’know. It’s what we accomplish in spite of ’em that makes us who we are.”

The last thing she’d have expected this morning was to find herself in a philosophical debate with a guy carrying a life-size nutcracker. “That’s a nice thought, but some of us are more imperfect than others. It keeps us from being our best.”

“Maybe that’s ’cause you’re meant to be something else.”

Clearly, he meant for his calm, rational explanation to make her feel better about her lingering injuries. He didn’t mention God by name, but the silver cross on the chain around his neck filled in the blanks nicely for her. While she respected his right to hold that faith, his comment sparked a flame of resentment she fought to control. “Maybe I wanted the chance to choose for myself.”

All her life, she’d done everything her Sunday-school teacher had taught her to do. She went to church, said all the prayers, sang all the hymns. She’d worked relentlessly to polish the talent God gave her until it shone as brightly as any stage lights in the world.

And then He took it all away.

Lying in that lonely hospital bed, she begged Him to help her, to make everything the way it was before. And what happened? Nothing.

She didn’t trust herself to speak calmly right now, but from the sympathy in Jason’s eyes, she might as well have told him her whole tragic story.

“We don’t always get what we ask for, Amy.”

“Tell me about it.”

More worked up than she’d been in a long, long time, she marched away from him and yanked open the door to escape into the only part of her world she still understood.

* * *

The rest of his day at Arabesque passed by in silence. Except when he was hammering or drilling, anyway. Other than that, Amy avoided him with a deftness that impressed and saddened him all at the same time. He’d been around enough wounded people in his life to recognize the regret that trailed after her, darkening her eyes with the kind of unrelenting sorrow he could only begin to imagine.

He’d just met her, but he instinctively wanted to do whatever he could to pound down the road ahead of her to make it easier for her to walk. The women who usually appealed to him were engaging, uncomplicated types who didn’t eat much and laughed easily. Something told him Amy Morgan was complicated by nature, which should’ve been an enormous red flag for him.

Unfortunately, it only made him wonder what it would take to make her laugh. Then again, he thought as he packed Fred’s tools into their cases, maybe he was getting ahead of himself. After all, he’d barely been able to tease a smile out of her, and they’d been together most of the day.

Stopping by her office, he knocked on the frame of the open door. “Everything’s put away, so I’m gonna get outta here before your students show up. I’ll be back Monday with those extra pieces we talked about.”

“Thank you.”

“No problem. Have a good rehearsal.”

Since he was out of things to say, he waved and began backing away. When she called out his name, he paused in the hallway. “Yeah?”

“Things were so hectic today, we never settled on your hourly rate.”

“I thought we agreed on zero.”

Narrowing her eyes, she tilted her head in a skeptical pose he suspected was fairly common for her. “I assumed you were joking about that.”

“Nope. I’m sure Fred wasn’t charging you, so since I’m filling in for him, it wouldn’t be right for me to do it.”

“Where I’m from, strangers don’t do things for nothing.”

“Huh,” he said with his brightest grin. “And here I thought we were friends.”

While he watched, the brittle cynicism fell away, and the corner of her mouth lifted in a wry grin. “I should warn you, I’m not the easiest person to be friends with.”

“That’s cool. I like a challenge.”

Before she could warp their light exchange into something heavier, he turned and headed for the front door, whistling “Jingle Bell Rock” as he went. When the orchestral holiday medley coming over the studio speakers increased in volume, he knew she’d heard him and was registering her disapproving opinion of his taste in Christmas music. Didn’t matter a bit to him, he thought as he stepped from the studio. So they didn’t enjoy the same kind of tunes. It wasn’t as if he was going to marry her or anything.

Outside, he paused to take in the view of his hometown at the holidays. While he’d been gone, he’d seen plenty of towns, big, small and everything in between. He recalled most of their names, but none had ever measured up to Barrett’s Mill for him. At first glance, this Main Street resembled so many others, lined with buildings constructed in a time when skilled craftsmen took great pride in building things that would last forever.

The structures had a solid look to them, which gave the village a quaint, old-fashioned appeal for residents and visitors alike. Especially this time of year, when each business went all out to win the Chamber of Commerce award for best commercial decorations. The jewelry store’s front window was dominated by a glacial scene that had sparkling rings and earrings pinned into the fake waterfall. Next to it, a shop that sold office supplies had set up a huge pile of brightly wrapped gifts, with a few open at the front to display the latest gadgets you could find inside. Every window was rimmed in lights, and on a cloudy day like today they gave off a cheerful glow that looked like something straight out of a holiday movie.

Across the width of the street, volunteers had strung the lighted garlands and wreaths the same way they’d done for generations. For as long as Jason could remember, when those festive greens went up, he knew Christmas was right around the corner. Even when he’d lived out West, he’d come back home every year, even if it was only for a few days. As he got older, reconnecting with those lifelong memories comforted him, no matter what might have gone wrong for him elsewhere.

He recognized a few of the people out window-shopping and lifted a hand in greeting before climbing into his truck. Actually, it was one of the mill trucks, older than dirt and held together by rust and a lot of prayers. Paul had gotten it running over the summer and offered it to Jason when he finally broke down and bought a pickup manufactured in this century. To start it, Jason usually needed a screwdriver and a boatload of patience. Since it hadn’t been idle all that long, he took his chances and turned the key. Nothing happened at first, but when he gave it another shot, the engine whined a bit and caught. Pumping the gas pedal, he let the motor settle into the throaty rumble that told him it would keep running long enough for him to get where he was going. Usually.

As he made his way toward the edge of town, the pavement gave way to gravel, and he turned in by the sign Jenna had made to mark the very first business in town: Barrett’s Sawmill, Est. 1866. He felt a quick jolt of pride, recalling how his older brother, Paul, had left his wandering ways behind and come back to reopen the bankrupt family business. Now a humming custom-furniture manufacturer, they made things by hand the old-fashioned way, in a mill powered by its original waterwheel.

It was a far cry from the lumber camps Jason had been working at the past couple of years. About half as exciting, he mused as he parked next to Chelsea’s silver convertible, but way safer. Before he’d even closed the driver’s door, baying echoed from behind the mill house, and a huge red bloodhound raced out to meet him.

“Hey there, Boyd.” He laughed as the dog leaped up to give him the canine version of a high five. “What’s shakin’?”

The dog barked in reply, letting him go and racing around him in circles all the way up to the front porch. Inside, Jason paused outside the office’s half door and waved in at his newest sister-in-law. “Hey, Chelsea. How’re the numbers looking this week?”

Beaming, she gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up. “I love Christmas shoppers. They need things fast, and they’re willing to pay extra for quick delivery.”

Jason groaned, only half joking. “Sounds like we’re gonna get real busy.”

“I wouldn’t take up any new hobbies,” Paul advised from the open sliding door that led into the rear of the mill. Wiping grease from his hands on a rag, he went on. “This is supposed to be your last Saturday off till the end of the year. What’re you doing here?”

“Making a Christmas tree.”

Chelsea laughed. “Doesn’t God already take care of that?”

While Jason explained what he was up to, he kept things vague to avoid creating the wrong impression about his situation with Amy. Despite his best efforts, though, Paul’s expression grew increasingly suspicious.

“Uh-huh.” Dragging it out longer than usual, he folded his arms in disapproval. “Now, how ’bout the truth?”

“That is the truth,” Jason insisted, as much for himself as his nosy brother. “The lady wants a tree and a nice arch overtop, so I’m making them for her. And for the kids. They’re working hard on their show, and they deserve a big audience. I figured it’s a nice, Christmassy thing to do.”

“It’s very nice.” With her kitten, Daisy, cradled in her arms, Chelsea came out to back him up. Sending a stern look at her husband, she smiled at Jason. “I’m sure she really appreciates your help.”

“Don’t encourage him,” Paul cautioned her. “He’s got a weakness for pretty faces and sad stories.”

“I do not,” Jason protested. Paul raised an eyebrow at him, and he decided it was pointless to argue. “Okay, you’re right, but this time’s different.”

“How?”

He didn’t want to lie, but it wasn’t his place to air her personal history, so he hedged, “Amy was advertising for a carpenter to replace Fred, and the job’s easy enough. Everyone else in the family does work for the church or charities this time of year, and I’ve been looking for a way to pitch in somewhere.”

“You’ve been doing that ever since you moved in with Gram and Granddad.” Paul rested a hand on his shoulder with a proud smile. “His cancer’s getting worse every day, and she needs your help after Mom goes home for the night. We’re all grateful to you for stepping up like that.”

The praise settled well, and Jason smiled back. “That’s why this project is so great. Working at Amy’s, I’ll be five minutes away if they need me. The show’s the week before Christmas, so my part’ll be over soon enough.”

“You realize you’re doing an awful lot of work for a woman you met—” Pausing, he chuckled. “When did you meet her, anyway?”

“This morning, after you and I had breakfast at the Whistlestop. She was decorating out front of the dance place, and since she’s new in town, I went over to say hi.” When Paul leveled one of those big-brother looks at him, Jason let out a frustrated growl. “You’re acting like I proposed or something.”

“Well...”

“That was a long time ago,” Jason reminded him, poking him in the chest for emphasis. “I learned my lesson with her, and I’ve got no plans for making that mistake again anytime soon.”

“I have to ask,” Chelsea interrupted. “Who on earth are you talking about?”

“Rachel McCarron,” Jason replied with a wry grin. “It didn’t work out.”

“That little minx took off with your best friend and your truck,” Paul reminded him, as if he’d lost his memory or something. “Oh, and the ring. Nice girl.”

“Whatever.”

Paul opened his mouth, then closed it almost immediately. Jason didn’t understand why until he noticed the chilly stare Paul was getting from his wife. It reminded him of Amy’s disapproving looks, and he smothered a grin. He’d never had the opportunity to compare one woman with another this way. If he could somehow figure out what was going on in their heads, it might actually be entertaining.

“Fine.” With a look that was half smile and half grimace, Paul stepped back to let Jason into the working area of the mill. “Whattaya need?”

Chapter Three

Monday morning crept by at a pace that would have embarrassed the slowest turtle on earth. Banished to her office at the rear of the studio by her carpenter, Amy chafed impatiently and tried not to check the old schoolhouse clock on the wall every two seconds.

She was dying to see what he’d come up with for the entryway. Before she went completely bonkers, she decided it was better to distract herself until he was finished. She could use the free time to inventory her costume collection, assessing what Aunt Helen had on hand so she could determine what they needed to buy for the cast.

Because the studio had been built on her aunt’s stellar reputation as a dance instructor, Amy had insisted Aunt Helen remain a silent partner in the business. So every decision was a “they” situation, which was new for someone who’d spent most of her life focused on her own career. It was one of many changes Amy had encountered since coming back to Barrett’s Mill after so many years away.

Like Jason Barrett.

The man couldn’t be any more different from her ex, and she couldn’t help but compare the two. A dancer himself, Devon hadn’t been able to cope with the somber prospect of being shackled to a wife who was so limited physically. He bolted shortly after her grim final diagnosis, taking his great-grandmother’s engagement ring with him.

Since then, the men who’d crossed her path had been either medical professionals or old friends who viewed her as more of a younger sister than a romantic interest. Heartbroken by Devon’s betrayal, her new hands-off status with the male species actually suited her just fine. She had no intention of letting another one close enough to hurt her by taking off just when she needed him most.

Not that Jason fell into that category, she reminded herself as she eased out of her chair. In a few short days, he’d proven himself not only respectful but dependable, two qualities she valued in anyone. On her way into the storeroom, she made several attempts to classify him based on other guys she’d known, but came up empty. Then she heard his teasing voice in her mind.

And here I thought we were friends.

Smiling to herself, she decided he was indeed her friend, one she might enjoy getting to know better. After all, she mused as she began pairing up satin slippers, you never knew when a big, strong carpenter might come in handy.

From the doorway, she heard a low whistle and turned to find him staring into the oversize closet. “It looks like a cotton-candy machine blew up in here.”

The comment was so spot-on, she couldn’t help laughing. “I guess it does. That’s what happens when you cast too many sugar-plum fairies.”

“How many extra do you have?”

Glancing up, she quickly did the math. “Ten, I think.”

“Why didn’t you just make them something else? Save yourself a little netting?”

“Because all the girls wanted to be Clara or a sugar-plum fairy. For this production, no one’s en pointe, and only Heidi Peterson could manage the basics for Clara. That means I need lots of these,” she added, fluffing the layers of pink tulle hanging on the rack.

Something in his expression shifted, and he took a step inside the cramped room. “You mean, you adjusted the traditional cast so they could play the roles they wanted?”

“Of course. They’re kids, and it’s Christmas.” Baffled by his reaction to her scaled-down production, she frowned. “Why?”

“Because that’s the last thing I’d expect from a perfectionist like you.”

The gold in his eyes glittered with an emotion she couldn’t begin to define, and she found herself caught up in the hypnotic warmth of his gaze. He didn’t move toward her, but his imposing presence filled the room with something that was more than physical. In a jolt of understanding, she recognized that it came from a heart so generous, he’d volunteered his time and talents to a stranger simply because she needed his help. Instinctively, she knew he was someone who treated people well as a matter of principle, not as a means to an end.

The kind of man who’d treasure the woman fortunate enough to be the one he loved.

That realization struck her with a certainty so powerful, it actually knocked her back a step. Trying to regain her perspective, she dragged her eyes away and made a show of hunting for the slipper that matched the one still clutched in her hand. “Did you need something?”

“Your stamp of approval.” Cocking his arm, he offered it to her with a bright grin. “Wanna come see?”

She did, very much, but she was hesitant to take his arm. Since she couldn’t come up with a way to refuse it politely, she fell back on logic. “That’s sweet, but we can’t fit through that door side by side.”

“Got me there. Ladies first, then.”

The way he kept referring to her as a lady made Amy want to giggle, and she firmly tamped down the impulse. He was obviously trying to charm her, but it would work only if she let it. She’d handled many situations like this in the past, and she was well aware that keeping him at a safe distance was the best approach.

But it wasn’t half as much fun as going along, she admitted with a muted sigh. Being sensible could be such a killjoy. Before they turned the corner to enter the front section of the studio, he abruptly stopped walking.

“Is something wrong?” she asked, standing on tiptoe to look past him. Big as he was, she couldn’t see a thing, and she started to worry. “It all fell down, didn’t it?”

“That’s insulting,” he informed her with a good-natured chuckle, “but since you don’t know me very well, I’ll let you get by with it. Close your eyes.”

“Why?”

“So you’ll be surprised.”

He said that as if it should have been obvious to her, and she felt a twinge of regret for not sharing his enthusiasm for what he’d built. She was the one who’d asked him to do it, and she knew she should be more excited. Sadly, since her dream of dancing had ended up wrapped around a light pole outside D.C., it was all she could do to keep trudging forward.

“I’m not very fond of surprises,” she said as evenly as she could manage. “I much prefer it when things go according to plan.”

Most of the people she knew would bristle at that or chide her for being a control freak. But not this guy. Instead, he gave her an encouraging smile. “My sister-in-law, Chelsea, used to be like that before Paul showed her how much fun she was missing.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with me.”

“Just that folks can change, is all. Now, close your eyes.”

She couldn’t understand why it meant so much to him, but he’d put in a lot of work and hadn’t charged her a dime. The least she could do was humor him. “Okay, they’re closed.”

Unfortunately, that threw off her equilibrium, and she felt as if she was going to fall. The sensation was alarming, and she clutched his arm more tightly to maintain her balance. It reminded her of the torturous first steps after the surgery that had shored up her spine but ended her career, and she felt a cold sweat breaking out on her face.

“You’re all right, Amy,” Jason murmured in a gentle drawl near her ear. “I’ve got you.”

Sure enough, he was bracing her with one strong arm, and she was stunned to find it wasn’t scary at all. Not trusting herself to speak without a whimper, she nodded and let him lead her through the studio and out the front door.

Crisp, cool air greeted her, and she fought off a shiver that had nothing to do with the weather. That was the scent she’d noticed on Jason the first day they met, fresh and outdoorsy. Something told her that from now on whenever she was caught outside on a winter day, she’d think of him.

Deliberately pulling her mind back to practical things, she asked, “Can I look now?”

“Go ahead.”

She opened her eyes, then blinked in total disbelief. He’d mentioned something about adding a tree and an archway, but this was way beyond anything she could have imagined even on her best day.

The simple arch she’d envisioned had become a full-fledged arbor, twined with greenery and twinkling white lights. The tree wasn’t made of wood, but was a seven-foot-tall artificial spruce with more lights and a multipointed crystal star on top. Gifts wrapped in gold and silver paper were clustered around the base, and one box looked as if it had spilled open to show off a collection of wooden soldiers like the ones that would march onstage in a few short weeks.

On the left side was her nutcracker. Sort of. The static sign Jenna had made now swung from hooks that allowed it to move in the breeze. The new arrangement made him look as if he was dancing. Awestruck by the combined effect of all those Christmassy elements, she was convinced a professional designer couldn’t have devised a better representation of the popular holiday ballet.

Apparently, there was more to the towering lumberjack than axes and hammers. Who would have guessed that? Astounded by the results, she stared up at Jason in disbelief. “You did this?”

“Yup.” Folding his arms, he cocked his head with an eager expression. “You like it?”

“Are you kidding? I love it!” Forgetting her vow to remain detached, she laughed and gave him a quick hug. “It must’ve taken you forever. How did you manage to get so much done over the weekend?”

“The tree I made didn’t turn out so well. Then I remembered your aunt used to put one up. I found it out back in your storage shed.”

“You mean, the one that’s locked and I can’t find the key to?”

“That’s the one.”

“How did you get it open?” As soon as she finished her question, she had to laugh. “Let me guess. Sledgehammer?”

“Bolt cutters, and I replaced the lock with a new one. The keys are in your office.” Glancing around, he leaned in and murmured, “I made the arbor for my gram’s garden. I’m gonna need that back before Christmas.”

Impressed beyond words, she went up to examine it more closely. Flowers and vines were carved into every piece of wood, curling up to meet in the middle of the arch in a heart with a script B in the center. “Jason, this is absolutely beautiful. You’re incredibly talented.”

He gave her an aw-shucks grin that made him look like an overgrown little boy. “I’m sure you’re used to fancier stuff, so it’s nice of you to say that. The power box is down here.” He pointed to an open-back square of wood. “The cord runs to your outside receptacle by the front door, and I marked the switch in the lobby that controls it. That way, you can turn everything on and off from inside.”

She was amazed that he’d thought to set it up so she wouldn’t have to go out in the cold to shut things down. They barely knew each other, and already he’d come up with a way to make her life easier—and warmer. After fending for herself for so long, she liked knowing he was looking out for her.

Despite her usual reserve, she could no longer deny she was warming up to this irresistible man. “Jason, I don’t know what to say. This is way beyond what I was expecting. How can I ever repay you?”

“Another one of those hugs would be cool.”

Laughing because she couldn’t help herself, she obliged him, adding a peck on his cold cheek for good measure. Pulling away, she frowned. “You must be freezing, after working out here so long. Would you like some coffee or something to warm you up?”

“That’d be great, thanks.”

“I don’t have any made in the office right now, but there’s some out back. Come on.”

Again, he motioned for her to go in ahead of him. For years, she’d been living in big, bustling cities where everyone rushed past her as if she didn’t exist. It might be old-fashioned of her, but she had to admit she liked Jason’s way better.

* * *

Amy’s apartment was...not what he’d expected.

Raised by his parents to be respectful above all else, Jason stood awkwardly in the middle of the narrow doorway, trying to come up with something nice to say. Built onto the rear of the studio, it was a single room with a tiny kitchenette and a small bathroom. The walls were raw drywall, and several buckets scattered around the floor alerted him there were leaks in the roof. Unfortunately, that wasn’t the worst part. “There’s something wrong with the furnace back here. I’ve been in freezers warmer than this.”

“You have not,” she scoffed.

“I worked for a butcher in Utah for six months, and trust me, his cooler temp wasn’t far off this place. How do I get to your utilities?” She blinked up at him, then began casting around as if she had no clue. It shouldn’t have been funny, but he couldn’t help laughing. “There must be a way to get into the crawl space under the addition. Do you know where it is?”

“I’m sure Uncle Fred does.”

Jason hated to bother the man for something that simple, and he shrugged. “No problem. I’ll find it.”

“That’s not necessary. I’m hardly ever in here, so it doesn’t bother me.”

“Must get cold at night, though.”

After a couple of moments, she relented with a sigh. “Okay, you got me. I sleep on the couch in the office.”

“That can’t be good for your back,” he chided her as gently as he could. With an injury like hers, she should have the most supportive mattress she could get, not some lumpy old sofa. “You keep doing that, pretty soon you won’t be able to get up in the morning.”

“It’s fine,” she said curtly.

“It’s not fine, and before I go, I’ll make sure you’ve got heat. While we’re at it, have you got any idea where your roof’s leaking from?”

“Umm...above?”

A smart aleck, he groaned silently. Just what he needed. Then again, he’d had more fun with her than any other woman he’d met recently. He wasn’t entirely sure what that meant, and fortunately, he didn’t have time to ponder it now. “I’ll climb up there, too, and find out what’s going on. My hunch is you lost a few shingles in that bad storm we had last week, and now the water’s getting in. There’s some extra roofing stuff in the shed, so I’ll do a patch that’ll keep things dry in here.”

Gratitude flooded her eyes, and she gave him a sweet but cautious smile. “Thank you.”

Something in the way she said it got to him, and it took him a minute to figure out why. When he landed on an explanation, he couldn’t keep back a grin. Troubled but unwilling to ask for help, her fierce sense of pride reminded him of himself. “I’m confused. Why’re you living like this when your aunt and uncle are right here in town?”

“I prefer having my own place, even if it’s not ideal.”

Her suddenly cool tone warned him not to push, and he decided it would be wise to let her have this one. It was none of his business anyway, so he focused on something less personal. “So, we’ve got the furnace and the roof. What else is wrong?”

“I hate to impose on you,” she hedged, handing him a bright red cup with a handle molded to resemble a candy cane. “You’re already doing so much for me.”

He didn’t think this serious and very independent woman would respond well to a damsel-in-distress joke, so he sipped his coffee and saluted her with the festive mug. “’Tis the season and all.”

Another hesitation, then she finally gave in and rattled off a list of problems, from leaky plumbing to some kind of vague fluttery sound above the drop ceiling.

“I’d imagine there’s a bird stuck in there,” he commented. “Or a bat.”

Every bit of color drained from her face, and he reached out to steady her in case she fainted on him. After a few moments, she seemed to collect herself and pulled back. “Bats?”

“Kidding.” Sort of. But her reaction had been real enough, and he made a mental note that the pretty ballerina wasn’t a big fan of the local wildlife.

“I do not want anything flying or crawling or scurrying around where I live,” she announced very clearly.

“Don’t worry. If I can’t get rid of ’em myself, I’ll call an exterminator.”

“But don’t hurt them,” she amended, her soft heart reflected in those stunning blue eyes. “Just take them out to the country where they belong.”

“Will do.” While they chatted, he’d been eyeballing the old floorboards, searching for some kind of opening. When he located it in the kitchen, he popped the edge with the heel of his boot and set it aside. “Got a flashlight?”

That she had, and after she gave it to him, he swung it around in the darkness. The opening was a pretty tight fit for a guy his size, but he decided to give it a shot. Worst case, he’d get stuck and Paul would come rescue him. And never let him hear the end of it.

Thinking again, he handed his phone over to Amy. “There’s gonna be some banging and grumbling down there, so don’t worry. If I’m not back in ten minutes, call my dad and tell him to bring a reciprocating saw. His name is Tom, and he’s speed-dial number 2.”

“Reciprocating saw,” she repeated with an efficient nod. “Got it.”

“I don’t suppose you’ve got a pair of pliers or a wrench or anything?”

To his amazement, she went to an upper cupboard and brought out a small toolbox. “Uncle Fred left me this in case I needed something. Will anything in there help you?”

“Maybe.” Jason took what he thought would be most helpful and tucked the tools into the back pockets of his jeans. Then he sat on the edge of the opening and gave her a mock salute. “Here goes nothin’.”

He wedged himself into the cramped space and pulled himself along on his back, hand over hand from one floor joist to the next. When light suddenly flooded the darkness, he yelped in surprise. “Whoa! What’d you do?”

“I wheeled in a portable spotlight from the studio,” she replied in a voice muffled by the floor. “Is it helping at all, or should I change the angle?”

“It’s awesome,” he approved heartily. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

Even from a distance, she sounded pretty proud of herself, and he chuckled. To his relief, the furnace malfunction was nothing more than an air duct that had wiggled loose and was dangling free. He nearly shouted out the problem, then thought better of it. From several comments she’d made, he gathered Amy was concerned about money. She probably wouldn’t be thrilled to discover she’d been paying to heat the crawl space under her apartment.

Reaching into his pocket, he fished out a screwdriver and tightened the screws on the collar that fastened the duct in place.

One extra turn for good measure, Jason. He heard Granddad’s voice in his memory. That kind of thing happened more often lately, as Will Barrett’s time on earth gradually ticked away. Swallowing the lump that had suddenly formed in his throat, Jason grimaced even as he followed his grandfather’s advice.

When he was finished, he carefully shimmied back out the way he’d come in, settling on Amy’s kitchen floor in a cloud of dust. “Sorry about that.”

“Don’t be silly,” she scolded with a delighted expression. “Do you feel that? It’s warm air!”

Grabbing his hand, she held it over a nearby register to prove it. When their eyes met, she seemed to realize what she’d done and abruptly let go. Feeling slightly awkward, he did his best not to read anything into the odd exchange. She’d been freezing, and he was the one who fixed her furnace. No biggie.

But another part of him saw things differently. Until now, she’d been polite but reserved with him, making him believe it would take a long time—and a truckload of patience—to gain her trust. That quick but impulsive gesture told him he was making progress, and she was beginning to warm up to him.

He didn’t know what the lady had in mind, but he was looking forward to finding out.

Chapter Four

Rehearsals with her little troupe of dancers were always interesting.

Having been involved with professional dance companies for most of her life, Amy had to frequently remind herself these were kids in a small town whose first exposure to ballet was coming through her. Her purpose in starting with The Nutcracker was twofold: it had a nice story and it had an unlimited number of roles available. When they were finished, she hoped her students loved it as much as she did.

But for now, she’d give anything to get Brad Knowlton to pay attention long enough to absorb the set blocking she’d just explained for the umpteenth time. “This is your mark,” she repeated as patiently as she could. “We taped it here last week, remember?”

His eight-year-old face wrinkled into a frown, and if he’d been a grown-up, she would’ve assumed he really was trying to cooperate, but his mind was elsewhere. Since this was her first formal experience with teaching, she wasn’t sure what the problem was. So she took a stab at identifying whatever was troubling her nutcracker prince. Clapping her hands to get their attention, she announced, “Let’s take a break, everyone. Get a snack, use the bathroom and meet me back onstage in ten minutes.”

That was one trick she’d learned the first day with her raucous crew. They loved being on the big stage, with its many spotlights overhead, and its triple rows of elegant velvet draperies that could be opened and closed as needed. Giggling and chatting excitedly, they went off in a more or less orderly line to get cookies and juice from the small fridge she always kept stocked with treats. Teaching dance to kids under the age of twelve was kind of like being a lion tamer, she mused with a smile. It never hurt to keep some of their favorite foods close by.

She let them all go ahead of her, then helped herself to a bottle of water. The cookies looked yummy, but her lingering injuries limited her physical activity, and she had to keep an eagle eye on her weight. Slight as she was, if she gained too many pounds, her reconstructed back and spine would pay the price, and she’d be in major trouble. As with most things, she’d learned that the hard way.

Averting her eyes from the temptation, she took a seat next to Brad, who’d crammed a chocolate-chip cookie into his mouth and stacked three more on his napkin in the shape of a pyramid. While he chewed, she casually asked, “Having a good time tonight?”

Still munching, he swallowed and then nodded. His brown eyes looked unsure, though, and she edged a little closer. “You’re not really, are you?”

After hesitating for a moment, he shook his head and sipped some juice. Since he didn’t seem eager to confide in her, Amy debated whether to let it go. She hated it when people forced her to talk, but with the days to opening night ticking down like an Advent calendar, she didn’t have much choice. If Brad didn’t want to play the lead, she had to find another boy who did ASAP.

She tried to put herself in his place but discovered even her vivid imagination wasn’t that good. She’d never been a young boy, after all. What did she know about how their brains worked?

Hoping she wouldn’t come across to him as a disapproving adult, she began her inquisition. “You seemed to be having fun with this the last time we rehearsed. Did something happen between then and now to make you change your mind?”

While he considered her question, she fought the urge to step in and help him make the right choice. Patience wasn’t exactly her strong point, but she tamped down her anxiety and summoned an understanding smile. She didn’t want to lose him, but she only wanted him to remain in the cast if he was enjoying himself. This was supposed to be fun, and she didn’t want any of the kids to feel pressured.

Finally, he said, “My mom took me to see The Nutcracker this weekend.”

“What a great idea! How did you like it?”

“It was awesome,” he replied, eyes wide with enthusiasm. “The soldiers and battle stuff were really cool. They shot off a cannon, and the prince got to kill the mouse king with his sword. How come we’re not doing that?”

Boys and their toys, she thought, muting a grin that would only insult him. His mother probably wanted to expose him to some culture, and his takeaway was the battle scene. “First of all, I don’t own a cannon, so that was out. Secondly, I wanted to keep our show short enough for little kids in the audience to enjoy. You have a two-year-old sister. How long can she sit still?”

“Not very long,” he admitted. “But having a sword would be cool.”

She could envision it now: the nutcracker prince chasing flowers and sugar-plum fairies all over her studio, waving a blade over his head like some marauding pirate captain. In an attempt to avoid being the bad guy on this issue, she asked, “How do you think your mother would like that?”

His hopeful expression deflated, and he stared down at the table with a sigh. “She’d hate it. She’d say I could poke someone’s eye out or something stupid like that.”

“I’m sure you wouldn’t hurt anyone on purpose, but accidents can happen when there are so many people onstage together. Someone could stumble and poke themselves, and then we’d be in trouble.”

“I guess.”

He was one of a handful of boys she taught, and by far the most talented. With a wiry, athletic build, he seemed to genuinely enjoy learning the routines, and he had a natural stage presence rare in someone his age. Because of that, she hated seeing him so disheartened and searched for a way to ease his disappointment.

Inspiration struck, and she suggested, “Why don’t we both think about it and come up with something else cool for your character to have? Maybe we could add something to your costume that would make you stand out more from the other soldiers, or give you a solo dance in the spotlight without Clara.”

She could almost hear the very proper Russian choreographer she’d last worked with shrieking in horror, but Amy put aside her artistic sensibilities and focused on Brad. If adding a quick progression for him would make him happy, she’d gladly do it. The success of Arabesque hinged on keeping her students—and their parents—coming back for more lessons and recitals. While this wasn’t the performing career she’d dreamed of, at least by teaching she was still involved in dancing.

She didn’t know how to do anything else, so if the studio failed she’d have no other options. When she let herself think about it, she got so nervous she could hardly breathe. So for now, she blocked out the scary possibilities and waited for Brad’s answer.

After what felt like forever, he met her eyes and gave her a little grin. “Can I jump like the prince I saw this weekend? It was like he was flying.”

This boy was far from a full grand jeté, but she didn’t bother pointing that out. Instead, she nodded. “It’ll take some extra work, but I think you can do it. What do you say?”

“Sure. Thanks, Miss Morgan.”

She was so relieved, she almost hugged him, then thought better of it. She’d learned that boys were funny about that kind of thing, and she didn’t want to destroy the rapport she was building with him by overstepping her boundaries. Instead, she held up her fist for a bump like she’d seen him do with his buddies. “You’re welcome. We’re due back in a couple of minutes, so finish up.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

He chugged the rest of his drink, then bolted for the bathroom. Glancing around at the rest of her class, she noticed how cheerful they seemed to be. Here, with their friends, surrounded by the Christmas setting she’d painstakingly designed to invoke the spirit of the ballet they were learning. It was almost time to get back to work, so she picked up her water and slowly moved toward the stage. On her way, she passed the photo Jason had pointed out during his first visit, and while she normally ignored those old pictures, this time she felt compelled to stop and look.

And remember.

For most of her life, she’d spent the holidays onstage, in the background as part of the supporting cast and later as Clara, twirling with her nutcracker and later meeting up with her prince. During the curtain call, she’d look out to find her mother in the audience, proudly leading the standing ovations, a huge bouquet of pink roses and baby’s breath in her arms. From her first production to her last, Mom had always been there, dancing every step with her, tears of joy shining in her eyes.

What would she think of this one? Amy wondered. With her daughter in the wings, adjusting costumes and fetching props instead of twirling her way through the footlights? They hadn’t been able to get together for Thanksgiving this year, so she hadn’t mentioned the show to her mother yet. Still, anyone with half a brain would be able to figure out Amy would be staging this, her favorite ballet, to open her new studio.

And Connie Morgan had much more than half a brain, Amy thought as she speed-dialed Mom’s number.

“Hello!” Mom answered, a little out of breath. “How’s my girl today?”

“Fine. Are you on the treadmill?”

“Oh, you know how it is,” she answered with a laugh. “If I keep running, maybe old age won’t be able to catch up with me.”

Amy laughed in response, wishing for the umpteenth time that she’d inherited her mother’s breezy attitude toward things in general. “I won’t keep you, then. I just wanted to let you know we’re putting on The Nutcracker on the eighteenth, here in Barrett’s Mill.”

She would have loved for Mom to attend, but not wanting to pressure her, she stopped short of putting that desire into words. The delighted gasp she got put her worries to rest.

“Your directing debut—of course I’ll be there! I wouldn’t miss it for the world. Then we can have a nice family Christmas with Helen and that big brother of mine.”

More relieved than she’d anticipated, Amy relaxed enough to tease, “It’s been a while. Do you remember how to get here?”

She humphed at that. “My new car has one of those fancy navigation systems.”

“Sure, but do you know how to use it?”

“Such a comedian. Are you doing stand-up in your spare time now?”

“There’s not much call for that down here.” Amy chuckled. “Besides, that’s the extent of my material. You gave me an opening the size of an 18-wheeler, and I took it.”

“That’s my girl, making the most of her opportunities,” Mom praised her warmly. “It’s so good to hear the old spunk back in your voice. It’s been a long time coming.”

That was a colossal understatement, but fortunately her break was over, so she didn’t have time to brood about it. “I’m sorry to cut this short, but I have to get back to the kids now. See you soon.”

“I’m looking forward to it. Love you, sweetie.”

“Love you, too, Mom.”

Ending the call, Amy sipped her water while studying the photos that chronicled her promising ballet career, which had been her only goal for as long as she could remember. When the kids started thundering back up the wooden steps and took their places onstage, her eyes drifted away from her past to focus on them.

Chattering to each other in hushed voices, they giggled while practicing the new steps she’d shown them earlier. With his soldiers trailing behind, Brad bounded up to take his spot, fresh enthusiasm glowing on his freckled face.

Apparently, the solution she’d come up with worked for him, she mused with a smile of her own as she went up the stairs to join her dancers for the second act. Maybe she was starting to get the hang of this teaching gig, after all.

* * *

“These look great, Fred,” Jason commented while he assessed the older man’s carpentry skills on some of the smaller set pieces. Not only had he finished cutting all of them out in detail, he’d painted them, too. His efforts would save Jason a ton of time. “I only dropped them off a couple days ago. How’d you get ’em done so fast?”

“Bored outta my mind,” Fred grumped, but the smile on his face said he appreciated Jason’s praise. “You can only watch so much of the History Channel.”

“I hear that. I’d rather be doing something than watching TV any day. Has the doctor said when you can get back to work?”

The town’s most talented mechanic groaned. “Another week, if I follow orders. ’Course, Helen won’t let me do otherwise,” he added with a mock glare over at his wife.

“You don’t want to miss out on Christmas, do you?” she challenged with a glare of her own. “Especially with Amy here now and Connie coming in for a visit. We haven’t all been together in years, and I’m not about to let you spoil it by being stubborn.”

“Besides,” Jason added with a grin, “with all the work you’re putting in, you’re gonna want to see The Nutcracker. It’d be a shame to have to make do with a recording when you could see it in person.”

“Yeah, yeah. I get it. Just bring me some more to do,” he pleaded. “I’m going bonkers cooped up here at the house.”

“It’s no picnic from where I’m sitting, either,” his wife informed him testily.

They’d been married for longer than Jason had been alive, and he’d always been amused by their good-natured bickering. Done with fond smiles and a light touch, their back-and-forth was evidence of a solid relationship that had probably started before the two Barrett’s Mill natives entered junior high.

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