High Country Holiday

Dalton Herrington.

Cody’s fists clenched involuntarily at the thought of the hotshot physician marrying Paris. But with Dalton’s professional status and upper-crust social standing in the community, he was exactly the kind of man she’d have been expected to marry. No surprises there. The future doctor had been in the same graduating class as Cody, likely finishing up medical school and heading into a residency program three and a half years ago. But even though he hadn’t been one to give Cody grief like others in the popular crowd, Cody didn’t want to think about them being a married couple who’d probably soon be starting a family of little high-class Herringtons.

For all he knew, they already had.

“Cody!” A sharp rapping at the driver-side window startled him back to the present.

He turned to find an auburn-haired, fiftysomething woman smiling at him and his spirits lifted as he stepped out to join her. Sharon Dixon, owner of Dix’s Woodland Warehouse, had always been good to his mom. To him, too, come to think of it. Funny how you forgot things like that.

The once-robust woman had lost considerable weight, though, since he’d last seen her. Had she been ill? His mother hadn’t mentioned it but, then again, after Paris’s engagement he no longer checked online to see what the pretty Miss Perslow might be up to, and forbade Ma to share any Canyon Springs gossip with him.

“As I live and breathe,” Sharon whispered, her former smoker’s voice as rough as sandpaper. “I’d heard you were back in town, doll. I’m sure your mother is tickled to pieces.”

He noticed she didn’t include his dad in that observation.

“Look at you. All grown up.” Her smile widened as she took him in from his booted toes to the baseball cap on his head. “I imagine you’re beating off the girls with a bat these days.”

He gave a dubious chuckle. “I can’t say that’s been much of a problem.”

“It will be if you stick around here for long.” She winked.

Right. While women elsewhere didn’t seem to have any objections to what reflected back at him in his mirror, he doubted any in this town would line up to compete for a guy who’d grown up on the wrong side of the tracks.

“I’m glad our paths crossed today, Cody. I have something for you to give your mom.” She dipped her fingers into a jacket pocket, then handed him a check. “It’s payment for wreaths and table decorations she left on consignment last week. They sold out within days.”

He glanced at the amount on Dix’s Woodland Warehouse check stock, then raised a brow. He used to gather bags of ponderosa pinecones for Ma, but had no idea people paid that kind of money for homemade Christmas decorations. He pulled out his wallet and tucked the check inside. “I’ll see she gets this.”

When she wasn’t with Dad.

“I’ve hesitated to contact her with all that’s going on.” Sharon gazed at him with sympathy. “But I have customers asking about future deliveries. There would be guaranteed sales if she can find time to put together more wreaths. The greenery or pinecone variety both sell well. Those quilted table runners are popular, too.”

“Thanks. I’ll let her know, Mrs. Dixon.”

“It’s Sharon.” She wagged a finger at him. “I thought we went through this when you were a teenager.”

They had, but he still felt funny calling her by her first name. His Texas-born mama had been a stickler for proper etiquette, Mister and Missus being drilled into him from infancy. Not that his manners had made any difference in this town.

“I’ll give the message to her...Sharon.”

She studied him for a long moment, windblown snowflakes lighting in her hair. “How is your father?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

But, God willing, not much longer.

* * *

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if this town needed another lawyer.

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

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

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

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

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

“Elizabeth, I—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chapter Three

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Startled eyes rose to his.

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

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

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

She tilted her head in question.

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

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

“And my old man’s luckiest.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sharon’s forehead creased. “Her husband?”

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

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

* * *

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