Читать книгу Sugar Plum Season - Mia Ross - Страница 9
ОглавлениеCarpenter 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.
