It's That Time of Year

“The kids are enjoying themselves,” Sam added.

Cal nodded. “The new Santa House adds a nice touch to the village square this year,” boasted the proud mayor, gesturing at all the people standing in line to visit Santa.

Sam nodded to the leggy blonde in a tight red sweater and skimpy red skirt with white fur trim who was hovering close to Santa. “I think Mrs. Claus is adding the best touch.”

The two of them laughed, and it felt good to relax and just enjoy the night. Later, after Cal left to join the crowd at the gingerbread tent, Sam’s attention turned back toward Melanie, standing in line with her son waiting to see Santa. Right now, She was smiling, but the tightness at the corners of her mouth indicated to him that she was trying too hard. Only when she was talking to her son did she seem truly happy.

Doug Stanley, the owner of the Pine Tree Motel where Sam had booked a room, had told him that Melanie was beginning to receive national attention for her antique car restoration business and was “no slouch” as a mechanic, either. Doug said she could tell what was wrong with a car just by listening to it run. And if it wasn’t running, she could tell you why not in five minutes flat.

Now that was talent, and very rare in a woman, but Sam could already see that she was no ordinary woman, and a great mother, too.

Little Kyle was lucky to grow up in a place like this. A place where his grandfather stood nearby, eyes shimmering with love for his grandson. A place where a little boy could hear his mother laugh as he lobbed snowballs at her.

Maybe it would make up for the fact that Kyle didn’t have a father.

A familiar heaviness tightened Sam’s chest. It was his fault that Kyle didn’t have a father.

Sam moved closer to Santa’s House when he noticed that Kyle was next in line and couldn’t help overhear his conversation.

“Ho, ho, ho,” Santa said. “What’s your name, young man?”

“Kyle. Kyle Bennett.” The child threw a leg over Santa’s and pulled himself into the big man’s lap.

He looked so small and innocent, and Sam was glad that Kyle still believed in Santa Claus and the magic of Christmas.

“And what would you like for Christmas, Kyle?” Santa asked.

“I want my daddy back.”

A sudden hush descended over the crowd. Santa didn’t move, but Melanie took her son’s hand and held it. Everyone waited to see what would happen next.

Kyle’s words were a sucker punch to Sam’s gut. He couldn’t take in enough air, could barely think.

The boy pulled on the fur trim of Santa’s collar. “Santa? Did you hear me?”

Santa glanced at Melanie.

“That’s not possible, sweetie.” Melanie cupped Kyle’s cheek. “We talked about this before. Daddy is in heaven and—”

“I know, but I want him to come back.”

“But you know that can’t be,” Melanie said softly. “Won’t you tell Santa what toy you’d like for Christmas?”

Santa rubbed Kyle’s back. “Santa knows that your father is in heaven watching out for you. He can see what a fine boy you are.”

Kyle frowned and shook his head.

“I want him down here, not up there.”

“Your daddy knows how much you like to play hockey. Would you like Santa to bring you a new hockey stick?” Santa asked hopefully.

“Okay,” Kyle said quietly, shrugging his shoulders.

Sam sighed. He’d rather be anywhere except here, listening to a little boy asking Santa to bring his father back. He’d hoped this trip would resolve some issues, restore his confidence so he could do his job. Instead, he now had two more faces he’d never be able to forget.

“What’s your favorite hockey team, Kyle?” Santa asked. “The Ducks?”

“The Ducks are weenies. I like the Canucks.”

Sam laughed. He couldn’t help himself. The boy’s innocent honesty was unexpected and a welcome relief from the serious mood.

Melanie whirled toward him, her eyes narrowed. She left Kyle with Santa and grabbed Sam by the arm, pulling him away from the crowd.

“Mr. LeDoux, I’m glad you think this is all so funny.”

He could see fire in Melanie’s emerald eyes by the glow of the Christmas lights on the trees overhead. Snowflakes clung to her eyelashes and her gold-blond hair.He liked this protective side of her.

“Mrs. Bennett, you misunderstand,” he said softly, wishing he could brush the snow from her hair. “I’m Canadian, and I used to play for the Canucks.”

She looked startled, and he thought a blush touched her cheeks. Looking down, she must have seen that her hand was still on his arm. She snatched it away, and he missed that simple contact between them.

“Melanie,” he began, but she interrupted him.

“Forgiveness. That’s what you want, isn’t it?”

He blinked in surprise. She was right. He wanted forgiveness. Peace of mind. Absolution. Whatever she wanted to call it.

“I’m not sure that I can give you what you want. I’m just not ready.” She looked into his eyes, and he thought he saw a glint of regret. “I’m sorry.”

He nodded. “I’ll wait.”

“I don’t know when—”

“I’ll be in town for a while, doing whatever it is a grand marshal does. When you want to talk, give me a yell. I’ll be the one with the crown and scepter.”

He could have sworn a slight smile touched Melanie’s lips before she walked away.

Chapter Three

The next day, Melanie reached for the rag in the pocket of her coveralls and wiped a damaged piece of the doorjamb on a four-door, 1929 Franklin dualcowl Phaeton. Studying the damaged car part, she knew that it was made from wood and not metal. It was commonly made from ash, and she knew she’d have to cut a new one herself. Luckily, she had just the right board in the storage room.

She’d been working on the Phaeton for a collector for the past eight months. It was one of about five or six left in the world, and she was trying to talk him into donating the vehicle to a museum. She believed that everyone should have a chance to appreciate a classic car like the Phaeton.

It was good to think about her work, rather than the turmoil of her life.

She rubbed her hands together to warm them in the cold garage. Although the four industrial heaters hanging from each corner of the ceiling were turned on high, it wasn’t enough to penetrate through all the layers of clothing she wore to warm her bones. Her fingers were like icicles.

Glancing out the window in the big doors of the bay, she saw it was snowing outside—big, fluffy flakes. The picture-perfect snow was a reminder of the picture-perfect Christmas she wanted to give Kyle.

Tonight, someone else would again dress as Santa and read The Grinch Who Stole Christmas at the public library. Tomorrow, there’d be a snowman-making contest back at the town square. After that, a peewee hockey game at Tucker’s Pond, complete with bonfire, then a free skate and a craft sale. Events were scheduled for nearly every day throughout the next three weeks, and she and Kyle would be attending or participating in all of them.

Soon, she and Kyle would cut their own tree and bring it home and decorate it. They’d go caroling with the church choir and do some Christmas shopping together. They might be small steps to take, but they were important to her—and hopefully special for Kyle. In the meantime, though, it was business as usual.

As she removed the rest of the doorjamb from the car, Melanie heard voices in the office. She assumed it was her father coming in to have some coffee and talk. Since his “retirement” from Hawk’s Garage, he hadn’t missed a day. Jack was probably with him, anxious to get to work on one of his race cars. Then again, maybe it was Brian, ready to work on one of his endless spreadsheets or to hunt down some parts for her on the Internet.

She looked at the office and saw her father and her two brothers waving and grinning from behind the floor-to-ceiling glass wall that separated the office from the garage.

Coffee and doughnuts, a little gossip with whoever stopped in, then work. That was the usual routine at Hawk’s Garage, built on the site of Ezra Packard Hawkins’s smithy. In time, Ezra’s sons had turned it into a carriage-repair business and called itHawkins Livery. With the invention of the automobile, the business was renamed Hawk’s Garage and transformed into a gas station and auto-repair business.

Melanie’s father had added another wing to the garage for classic car restoration and their race-car division. Jack kept the division purposely small, preferring to be very selective in the projects he undertook. Melanie had taken a shine to the intricacies of making antique cars new again, although she still liked to keep her mechanical skills up-to-date in the main repairs and maintenance garage when she had the time.

Brian was less mechanically inclined. Armed with his MBA, he handled the business end and was in charge of finances. Their dad freelanced whenever the spirit moved him.

Melanie always felt secure and loved just knowing that her family was around her. They were her strength, her lifeline. Sure, they worried about her too much and they were overprotective, but she loved them for their support and caring, especially after Mike died.

Melanie sighed. Since last night, she couldn’t stop thinking about Sam LeDoux. Her entire family liked him—and so did everyone else in Hawk’s Lake. What did they know that she didn’t? Was she wrong not to hear him out?

Maybe that would make him feel better, but not her.

She’d always tried to keep her pain to herself. As a kid, she hadn’t had any girlfriends—they couldn’t understand why she’d rather rebuild an engine than chase boys. Her brothers were always hell-bent on teasing her, so they’d be the last two on earth she’d ever confide in. Nor could she talk to her mom, who’d had health issues, and her father had enough worries between her mother being sick and the garage.

So little by little, she’d built a wall around herself—a wall that had become thicker and taller since her marriage.

Lately, she was starting to see the defects in that wall, hairline cracks that continued to grow until it was threatening to fall down around her, leaving her defenses exposed for what they were—lies, halftruths and face-saving devices.

The real truth was that Melanie was afraid of what she might see if she looked inside herself—and too deep into her marriage. There was an empty void in her mind the night of the ice storm. She knew something had happened that night that she couldn’t—or didn’t want to—remember.

Melanie sighed. It’d be so much easier to continue to blame Sam LeDoux than to try and see through the gauzy recesses of her mind.

Tossing and turning all night, she’d thought about the tree lighting and how she’d reacted when she’d found out who he was. She’d become a different woman from the one who had nearly flirted with him earlier—and she didn’t like that side of herself. After all, Sam had only wanted to explain what had happened that fateful night—and she’d shut him down.

It had been easier to dislike him when she hadn’t yet met him, and hadn’t seen the pain in his eyes, an ache so similar to her own.

Did that make her a horrible person?

She found the piece of wood she’d been looking for and walked back into the garage. Another noise signaled that she wasn’t alone. Instead, there was Sam LeDoux himself, leaning against the wall of the garage, wearing a black leather bomber jacket and snug, faded jeans. To her utter mortification, something inside her sizzled.

Why was she so aware of every little detail about him?

“Hello, Melanie. I hope I’m not interrupting you.”

She turned her attention back to the doorjamb, trying to calm the flickers in her belly caused by his deep, sexy voice. “You are.”

Ignoring her response, he asked, “How did you become involved in fixing up antique cars?”

She shrugged. “I don’t know exactly. I guess I always liked restoring things to their original state—especially old things. My aunt Betty got me into restoring antique furniture first, and cars came next.”

Why was she telling him all this? She focused on the wood in her hands, preparing it for the jigsaw.

“I think it’s wonderful that you’re so successful at it.” He shifted on his feet, and Melanie figured that he had run out of things to say. “Listen, could I buy you a cup of coffee when you’re done?”

She moved her safety goggles into place and flipped the switch on the jig. It roared to life. Sam stood with his hands in his jacket, awaiting her answer. Couldn’t he take a hint?

“I already had coffee,” she finally said over the noise of the saw.

“Okay. Then how about dinner tonight?”

He couldn’t possibly be asking me out, she thought.

She shut off the jig and studied her cut. Perfect. “As you can see, I’m busy.”

“What about the tomorrow night?”

“Busy.”

To avoid looking at him, Melanie walked down to the other side of the car and inspected the grill. She already knew there was nothing wrong with it, but she measured it just for something to do.

As Sam walked toward her, Melanie felt heat rising in her blood. She told herself that it was anger, nothing more. It certainly wasn’t because he was so handsome and she could smell his outdoorsy scent. His friendly smile made her think of his sensuous lips.

Darn it. What was wrong with her?

The sound of his saddle-colored cowboy boots came even closer as he walked across the concrete floor. Unable to help herself, she looked up and saw that his black hair was windblown and damp from the snow.

A telltale blush crept up her neck and settled on her cheeks.

She waited until her father and brother were bent over the engine of Jack’s race car and out of hearing range before she spoke. “What do you want, Sam?”

In the overhead lights, his eyes were like the color of Hawk’s Lake in the summer.

“To talk.”

Melanie could feel him standing behind her, so she went back around to the other side of the car to get away from him.

He huffed out a breath, clearly frustrated by her refusal. “Look, I spoke with Cal. Since my presence is clearly making things uncomfortable for you, I tried to get out of being the grand marshal, but he said that they couldn’t get a replacement at this point.” He shrugged. “I just want you to know that I tried.”

Melanie froze. He’d actually tried to get out of being the grand marshal—for her? That was considerate of him. Maybe she was being too selfish.

Emotions were churning inside her, giving her a pounding headache. A nagging voice inside her chastised her for being unfair. Maybe listening to him would help her put the past to rest and make it easier for her to have a good Christmas with Kyle.

She sighed. “Okay, Sam…I’ll have dinner with you. Tomorrow night.”

He smiled. “Shall I pick you up? Seven o’clock?”

She shook her head. “I’ll meet you at Momma Luigi’s. It’s on Main Street.”

“I’ll find it,” he said. “It’s a date.”

“No, it’s not,” she said, ignoring the flush of pleasure that heated her face. “It’s just dinner.”

Sam found himself whistling as he drove back to the Pine Tree Motel in Jack Hawkins’s big white pickup, which he’d borrowed for the length of his stay.

He liked both Melanie’s brothers, and her father, too. He’d gotten to know them fairly well last year after the ice storm. They were hard workers, friendly and personable.

But he was attracted to Melanie—he couldn’t deny it. In fact, it was one of the reasons he agreed to return to Hawk’s Lake.

What had made Melanie decide to have dinner with him? Sam figured he’d just worn her down and she was sick of him asking. He could be tenacious when he wanted to be—really tenacious.

She looked sexy in her navy blue mechanic’s jumpsuit. It clung to all her curves. Her emerald eyes looked even bigger and greener through the safety goggles she was wearing.

And she’d finally agreed to hear him out—and for the first time in months, he felt a lightness inside his chest.

Later that evening, the snow was still falling in big feathery flakes as Melanie pulled her forestgreen Blazer into the parking lot across the street from the Hawk’s Lake Public Library.

She smiled down at her son. “We’re here.”

“Cool,” Kyle said, grinning. “I can’t wait to talk to Santa.”

“Santa’s only reading The Grinch today. You already talked to Santa last night.” She got out and opened the passenger door for Kyle, who quickly scrambled out of the Blazer.

“Hold it, mister,” she said. “It’s twenty degrees out.”

She pulled his hat down around his ears, gathered the hood of his parka onto his head and snapped it under his chin. With his sweet face framed in a circle, he looked like a little angel. She took his mittened hand in hers and walked to the street to wait for one of the town’s four snowplows to go by.

Pretty soonKylewouldn’t believe in Santa or the magic of Christmas. Soon he’d be too grown-up to take her hand to cross the street. She sighed. Funny, she thought, how time could be a friend or an enemy.

As they were about to cross, a big white pickup truck ground to a slow, sputtering halt before them. It was driven by…Santa Claus.

Kyle squealed. “It’s Santa, Mom! It’s Santa! What’s he doing in Uncle Jack’s truck?”

Santa got out of the truck, and it looked like he was about to let loose with an expletive before he saw them standing there. Familiar blue eyes met hers above the white beard.

Santa shifted on his feet, looking down. “Um…ho, ho, ho!” he said weakly. “Um…my reindeer are resting and my sleigh is being loaded by my elves, so a nice man by the name of Jack Hawkins let me use his…uh…sleigh on wheels. But there seems to be something wrong with it.”

Melanie knew that voice. That deep, resonating voice. It seemed to melt her bones every time she heard it.

Sam LeDoux.

“Santa, my mom can fix it,” Kyle said, eyes wide, looking up at the big man. “My grandpa says she’s the best car fixer in the whole world.” He swiveled to look at her. “You can fix it, right, Mom?”

“Um…yes…of course, I’ll take a look under the hood, honey.” She walked Kyle to a nearby bench and brushed the snow from it. “You sit right there and don’t move. There are a lot of cars driving into the library lot and it’s dark. This’ll only take a second.”

“Okay.” Kyle watched her with excitement glowing on his face, like his mom helping Santa Claus was the best thing that had ever happened.

Walking back to the truck, she flipped the lever and bent over to look under the hood as Santa—Sam—stood next to her. Their shoulders brushed as they stood side by side looking at the engine.

“Why are you playing Santa?” she said through gritted teeth.

He looked down at her and grinned. “The scheduled Santa had to work overtime at the paper mill, so I got roped into it by Cal.”

“I see.”

Two days in Hawk’s Lake and Sam had been roped into playing Santa. By his own admission, he had at least a dozen bigger events to attend, yet he’d come for the kids. She had to admit he wasn’t quite the bad guy she’d made him out to be…

“I’m not sure that I’ll be a very good Santa,” Sam said, shaking his head. “Any advice for a rookie?”

As she looked up into those twinkling eyes, she had to laugh. “Just be natural and do a lot of ho-ho-ho-ing. And by the way, Jack’s truck needs a new alternator.”

“You can tell that right off?” He sounded impressed.

“I could tell by the sound when you pulled in,” she said confidently. “I’ll call my cousin Ronnie at the garage to send a tow.” She shook her head. “I don’t know why Jack loaned you this truck. He knew the alternator was going. Ronnie will fix it tonight.”

She closed the hood, then turned a critical eye to Sam’s outfit.

“Sam, your beard and your…stomach…are a bit off center. You should fix them.”

“I’ve tried, but I can’t seem to get them straight.”

It was dark behind the truck, and he was standing much too close to her, but Melanie couldn’t let the kids see Sam in his disheveled state.

She hurriedly moved his beard to the left, so the mustache was positioned correctly around his lips—his perfect lips. Glancing down to his stomach, she centered the pillows in the middle of his body.

She could smell peppermint on his breath and pine-scented cologne. His eyes were no longer full of amusement, but seemed to watch her with a very different kind of intensity.

“There,” she said, embarrassed by her husky voice. “Much better.”

“Thank you,” he said, but he didn’t back up. She couldn’t stop looking at his eyes, glittering in the moonlight. What secrets were hidden behind those blue depths?

She shook her head and reminded herself that she didn’t want to know him well enough to find out.

Melanie stepped back, found her cell phone in her purse, motioned for Kyle to join them, and called cousin Ronnie at the garage. She put in the order for a tow while Sam got a red sack out of the front seat of the truck.

“Santa’s reading How the Grinch Stole Christmas,” Sam said to Kyle in his Santa voice. He looked at Melanie and cleared his throat. “Ho, ho, ho.”

“I know,” Kyle said, looking up in awe. “It’s my favorite.”

Melanie listened to the snow crunching under their boots. She’d rather be digging a tunnel through a glacier with a spoon than be in the same room with Sam LeDoux. He made her feel things she didn’t want to feel—but she couldn’t disappoint her son.

“I’ll show you the way, Santa,” Kyle said.

“Ho, ho, ho! That’s a good boy.”

Kyle seemed to be growing taller as he led Sam into the library. The children squealed in glee when they saw Santa, and Sam eventually relaxed and played the part enthusiastically.

Melanie took a chair at the side of the room while he motioned for the children to gather around him on the floor. Then he read The Grinch to the packed room of kids, parents and library staff.

He seemed like he was having the time of his life, Melanie thought. Every kid stared up at him mesmerized. His deep, resonant voice echoed through the hushed library, and his Grinch voice was sufficiently creepy.

The children stared up at him, caught up in the fantasy of Christmas in the happy hamlet of Whoville.

Melanie watched as a tiny girl inched closer and closer until she was touching Sam’s knee. He absentmindedly pulled her into his lap, tucking her halo of dark curls into the crook of one arm. She looked up at him, transfixed by every word.

Melanie was transfixed, too. Could a man who played Santa so naturally be all that bad?

The story ended and Santa received a round of applause and cheers. He motioned to Kyle to come forward. “Kyle, would you like to help Santa pass out candy canes?”

Kyle nodded so enthusiastically she thought he was going to fall over. With pride, Melanie watched as her son carefully handed each person a candy cane and politely answered, “You’re welcome” to every “Thank you.”

The library emptied out, except for one mother and a little towheaded girl. The girl stood next to Kyle watching the fish swim in an aquarium in the corner of the room.

Melanie heard the woman tell Sam that they were staying nearby at the Mountain Lake Lodge on Blue Lake. She explained that they were rebuilding their home after an electrical fire, but construction was moving slowly due to the snow and frozen ground.

“Would you mind if my daughter, Emily, talked to you for a minute?” she asked Sam, hope etched into her face. “She’s still upset about the fire.”

Melanie’s heart squeezed as Sam said, “Of course.”

The woman went to get Emily. The girl seemed painfully shy, barely looking at Santa. She clutched the hem of her mother’s jacket in a death grip. But when Sam patted his knee, the girl scrambled up into his lap. So much for her shyness.