Jingle Bell Bride

“Okay.” Chelsea shouldered the door shut. Sara Beth was sister number two in the McKaslin lineup, Chelsea’s younger sister by two years. “I guess the real question is what she’s looking for?”

“House lights. We’re putting them up today.” Meg’s voice echoed from the kitchen, leaving a lot unsaid. This would be the first Christmas they would be stringing up the lights without Mom.

Chelsea swallowed against a tide of emotion and plopped down on the nearby bench. She could do this. She could face this Christmas without Mom. “Are you going to hang the dangly icicle ones or the multicolor ones?”

“Not my call. The person who puts up the lights gets to decide.” A clink sounded from the kitchen. “I can tell you, it won’t be me. Remember what happened when I was on a ladder last?”

“Was that when you got stuck on the roof?”

“Putting up the big star, per Mom’s directions, remember? And it totally wasn’t my fault the stupid ladder decided to fall over. I haven’t trusted one since.”

“You think the rest of us should?”

“Sure, as long as it isn’t me.” A clunk of a stoneware mug being set on the granite counter punctuated her humor. “I strung the lights the last time with Dad, if you remember. Sara Beth said she’s not partial to ladders, and Johanna is at the vet clinic working with Dad and who knows when they will be back, so that only leaves—”

“Me.” Great. She wasn’t fond of ladders either. She tugged off her boots. This is what she got for being the oldest and out of town when her sisters were planning Christmas. “Why don’t we wait for Dad?”

“Because I think it will be too tough on him to have to do it.”

“Right.” Because he’d always put them up for Mom. Boy, this Christmas wasn’t going to be easy. She unzipped her barn coat and hung it in the closet. “Guess it’s my turn, then.”

“I knew you’d do it. I kinda think it’s best to surprise Dad with the decorations, you know, like a new tradition. Now it’s our turn to put up the lights for him.”

“I like it.” She followed her sister’s voice into the kitchen. Bayly, one of their two dogs, opened an eye to watch her enter the room, let his lids fall shut and went back to snoozing on his bed near the family room’s crackling fireplace. “But before I do anything, I’ve got to fetch my car and I have a few things to do in town.”

“What things?” Meg set a teacup on the breakfast bar. The scents of cinnamon and spices wafted upward on the steam.

“Go to the bank. Hit the bookstore. Check up on a few people.”

“What people?” Meg’s eyes narrowed curiously. That was the problem having so many sisters. No privacy. Plus, sisters tended to be nosy.

Maybe she was missing Seattle after all. She cozied up to the breakfast bar and plopped onto a swivel chair. “I came across a little girl and her dad in the cemetery last night. She fell off the curb in the storm and broke her wrist.”

“Poor little one.” Meg set a second cup on the counter. “So, tell me. Handsome dad?”

“I didn’t notice.”

“How could you not notice? Honestly.” Meg shook her head with disapproval. “Any chance he was a single dad? I keep praying for you to find a really great guy.”

“He was a widower. That was why he was at the cemetery.”

“Oh.” Meg circled around the kitchen island and took the neighboring chair. “How sad for them.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, sipping her tea, remembering Macie. And the father...Dr. Kramer. She ought to really dislike him, she hadn’t appreciated the way he’d manhandled her, suspecting the worst when she’d only been helping his daughter, the child he’d let wander away from him. But then, it only took a moment of inattention and if he’d been at his deceased wife’s grave...her heart twinged with sympathy. Sympathy was one thing, but remembering the way snow had settled on his broad shoulders was entirely another.

“You’re praying for me to find someone? Really?” She sipped her tea, which warmed her instantly. “Even though you know I have a five-year plan?”

“You and your plans.” Meg leaned back, legs crossed. “Don’t tell me. You made a pro-con list, too.”

“Don’t mock my pro-con lists. I wouldn’t be able to make a good, workable plan without them.”

“I wasn’t mocking, honest. Just curious. Where are you putting romance in your plans?”

“I’m not.” When the time came, she had a very definite idea about the kind of man she would fall for—dependable, honest, loyal and kind—and even then, he would have to fit into her plans. Wasn’t that what plans were for? “Am I smart, or what?”

“How exactly do you want me to answer that?”

“I’m not sure I do.” Chelsea rolled her eyes, shaking her head. Somewhere outside rang a dog’s distant bark.

The doorbell chimed, echoing through the sprawling house. Bayly lifted his head from his dog bed, gave a halfhearted bark and yawned wide. His watchdog abilities were sorely lacking.

“Ooh, could be the delivery dude.” Meg bounded from her chair, mug in hand. “Maybe my package finally came. No, stay where you are. You’d better rest up while you can because in about ten minutes, you have a ladder to climb.”

“Will I be climbing it alone?” She arched one brow, kind of wondering what else her sister had planned for her.

“It depends.” Meg’s voice trailed behind her as she wove through the house. “If it’s not a busy day at the clinic, then Johanna will be able to lend a hand.”

“Probably not busy in this weather.” Their dad ran a veterinary clinic, now joined by Meg and Johanna, who were vets, too.

“Hey, that’s not the delivery truck.” Meg’s surprise lilted through the house. The door whispered open, but Chelsea’s feet were already on the floor of their own accord. She pushed away from the breakfast bar, driven by the tingle at the back of her neck.

“I’m Michael Kramer.” A man’s rich baritone rumbled from the doorway. “Is Chelsea home?”

“Sure. Let me guess. You’re the cemetery guy.” Meg tugged the door wider. “Here she is right now. Howdy, sis. There’s someone here to see you.”

“So I heard.” She did her best not to gape at the tall, solemn and handsome man towering in the doorway. Make that remarkably handsome, now that she got a good look at him in the full light of day. He wore a black wool coat, jeans and hiking boots. She’d be hard-pressed to recall when she’d last been around such a good-looking guy.

Wow, Meg mouthed.

It was hard to argue. Wow, indeed. His chiseled face, lean lines and wide, dependable shoulders made her heart catch. Her knees went weak and her heart skipped two beats, but it had to be from the surprise of seeing him again. A perfectly understandable reaction.

“Chelsea.” A hint of a smile shaped the corners of his chiseled mouth. The intensity of his gaze zeroed in on her like a target. “Looks like I got the right house.”

“G-guess so,” she stuttered out. Great. Brilliant. She’d never been what you’d call confident around handsome men. “I’m surprised you’re out and about on these roads.”

“They’ve been plowed. I wanted to return these.” He held up the afghans her mom had made. “Thanks again.”

“Not a problem.” Somehow she was in front of him and multicolored granny squares tumbled into her arms. The yarn, soft and full of memories, smelled of fabric softener, clearly freshly laundered. That was thoughtful of him. Wasn’t it? “How is Macie?”

“Better. She’s talking with your sister.” He gestured down the walkway, pointing out of sight. At least, she thought they were out of sight. Maybe she couldn’t see Sara Beth or Macie because she couldn’t make her gaze move past the man.

He loomed above her at well over six feet, his sandy-brown hair tousled by the wind. Blink, Chelsea, she told herself. Stop staring.

“It was a simple fracture, no complications, no real swelling, so the doc casted her last night.” His voice dipped, tender with fatherly concern. “She’s much better this morning.”

“Glad to hear it.” Chelsea dumped the afghans unceremoniously on the nearby bench, wishing her gray matter would kick into gear. Why couldn’t she be amusing and charming and unaffected? Where was her confidence when she needed it?

Footsteps thumping up the porch steps saved her from fruitlessly searching for something clever to say.

“Hi, Chelsea!” Macie peered around her dad. Daisy, the McKaslins’ yellow lab, hopped up and down with excitement at her side. “Sara Beth said I can choose the lights.”

“She did, did she?” Now that her vision had cleared, Chelsea spotted her sister down the walkway, leaning against one of two ladders.

“Sorry.” Tall, sweet and beautiful, Sara Beth gave her lustrous brown hair a toss. “I couldn’t resist letting her pick.”

“I totally get it.” It was so easy to remember she’d been little and the four of them rallied around Dad shouting out their preferences for lights. Once, he’d put up two different strings, one over the top of the other, just to keep everyone happy. The house had been so brightly festive, you could see the Christmas lights a good half mile across the horse pasture. She blinked away the recollection of Mom’s laughter at the sight. “Which ones did you like best, Macie?”

“The white ones.” Her round face was relaxed and smiling, a welcome change from last night. “I like those the best because they’re like icicles.”

“Me, too. Good choice.” Chelsea grabbed her winter coat off the tree by the door and shrugged into it, crossing the porch. “Hey, I like your pink cast.”

“Me, too.”

“And it matches your coat.” Aware of Michael’s gaze prickling across her back, she knelt to get a good look at the girl’s arm. “You were brave to get an X-ray and see a doctor.”

“I didn’t have to go the hospital. Dad took me to his office.” Macie gulped, wrestling with her emotions. “The hospital is where my mom died.”

“Mine, too.” She shared an understanding look with the girl. “Do you know what you need?”

“What?” Macie’s forehead crinkled.

“Stickers. I don’t know how to tell you this, but you can’t go around with a cast like that. It’s just plain wrong.”

“It is?”

“Sure. You’ve got to decorate it.” Chelsea felt the tug of Michael’s gaze, drawing her to him. There went her heart rate, galloping again. “Why don’t you two come in?”

“I think we could spare the time.” The deep notes of his voice shivered over her, as warm as steaming cocoa on a cold winter’s day. “But you’re clearly busy.”

“Nothing that can’t wait. We’re talking about stickers here. Important stuff.”

Suddenly Meg had returned—Chelsea wasn’t even sure where she’d went. Meg, ever helpful, grinned exceptionally brightly from the hallway. “Come in, Macie. Let’s go raid my sister’s stash of stickers, okay?”

“Okay. Does she have a good stash?” Macie trailed into the house and down the hall. Daisy—Dee for short—scrabbled after her, doggy nails tapping a cheerful rhythm on the wood floor.

Alone with Michael, Chelsea took a deep breath, fighting the unsettling sensation of being close to him. It troubled her, trickling in like the cold wind through her coat and she shivered. Now what did she say? Nothing brilliant came to mind. Funny, she’d been uncomfortable with him last night for an entirely different reason.

He looked as uneasy as she felt. He jammed his fists into his coat pockets, looking like a male model striking a pose for winter wear. He shifted his weight from his left foot to his right and his high intelligent forehead furrowed as if he were searching for something sociable to say to break the lengthening silence.

Talk about awkward. He was still standing on the porch! Why hadn’t her brain worked enough to invite him in? “Maybe you’d like some hot chocolate?”

“No, I don’t like hot chocolate.” His deep blue eyes transmitted his apology.

“Okay, then—”

Like an answer to a prayer, Sara Beth breezed up the steps, her face pink from the freezing wind. “Hey, Chels, it’s time to get the lights up. We’ve got two hours tops before Dad rolls in.”

“Right.” The perfect excuse. “Maybe you could take Michael inside? Maybe get him something to drink.”

“Sure. Hi, Michael.” Sara Beth nodded, apparently acquainted with the man. A total surprise. “Come on in and make yourself at home. Maybe keep an eye on Macie. No telling what kind of trouble she and Meg will get into with those stickers.”

“Stickers are not my domain. I’d rather avoid it.” Another hint of a smile tugged at the corners of his mouth. “Besides, when a man sees a ladder, he has to climb it.”

“Fine by me.” Sara Beth shot Chelsea a grin and wagged her eyebrows. “I’ll just go and fetch the lights. You two can get to work.”

“Us two?” Chelsea shot her sister a death-ray glare. What was going on? “Wait, Sara Beth. Aren’t you going to help?”

“Why should I, when we have a volunteer to do it?” Sara Beth sashayed down the hallway, leaving Chelsea alone with the man again.

Why did she suspect her sister had some kind of motive?

“I know Sara Beth from the riding stables.” He broke the silence, taking the first step in the direction of the ladders. “She’s teaching riding. She’s Macie’s instructor.”

“That explains it.” Chelsea closed the door behind her, shivering in the cold wind on the porch. “Sara Beth is the best.”

“So I hear. Macie wants to be like her.”

“Good call. Sara Beth is awesome. She’s a world-ranked rider.” Pride for her sister came through. “She won a bronze medal in the last Olympics.”

“And a gold and a silver in a couple World Championships. I know all about it.” Not because he knew anything about the McKaslin family, but because a little sprite he knew talked on and on about it.

“How long has Macie been riding?”

“Since the school year started.” His attempt to make her life as normal as possible after her mother’s passing. Not an easy thing to do, and remembering how hard it had been for Macie still choked him up. “My wife loved horses. For our last Christmas together, Diana promised riding lessons and a horse to Macie. I will never forget our last holiday together as a family.”

“Those memories are great treasures. That was like Mom’s last Christmas with us. We did everything to the max, decorating, gifts, the food. All that mattered was that she was with us.”

“I understand.” His throat tightened. As he ambled down the shoveled pathway, his feelings stirred. Maybe it was the bracing air that burned in his lungs with each breath or the quiet beauty of the December morning. “I would give everything I have to give Macie one more day with her mother.”

“I know the feeling, wanting to do anything to turn back time.” Her understanding touched him like a blessing. A gentle gust of wind caressed her light chestnut locks, which fell like gleaming silk over her slender shoulders. “I have to believe that love lives on.”

“Me, too.” He wasn’t sure what was happening to his stoic heart. He tipped back his head to study the placement of the ladders, stretching up two stories. Footsteps crunched close behind him and Sara Beth waltzed around the corner of the garage carrying a big plastic storage tub in both arms. It looked like an awfully awkward bin, so he headed toward her. “Let me get that.”

“I’ll get it.” Chelsea sailed in front of him, and the long lean line she made as she plunged through the snow made him think of music videos and wholesome country stars and the innocent grace of Christmas carols. Her long hair swept behind her like a rippling melody. She handled the big tub with ease. “Sara Beth, you’re staying to help, right?”

“Sorry, I changed my mind.” Sara Beth’s dark eyes looked him up and down, and her grin was just shy of mischievous. She turned on her heel and tossed over her shoulder, “I’ve got better things to do.”

“Someone is getting coal in their stocking come Christmas morning. I’m not naming any names, but it could be you.” Chelsea flipped off the container’s lid and sunlight shone on the thousand miniature lights inside. “Can you believe it? She abandoned me.”

“What’s the world coming to, right?”

“Right.” Her brows arched, an adorable little twist of her beautiful face, and exactly how lovely she was hit him like a snowball to the chest. Her porcelain jawline and dainty chin gave her a sweetheart’s look. Her sloping nose and friendly blue eyes could make stronger men than he stop in their tracks. She didn’t seem aware of it as she plucked a coil of white lights from the container. “You don’t look like the handyman type. So, really, why are you doing this?”

“Because one good turn deserves another.” He took possession of the coil, lifting it from her slender fingers. “Besides, it’ll give me practice. Macie is bound to talk me into stringing lights at home, and this way I’ll make all my mistakes here.”

“With our lights? Right.” She wasn’t fooled. She fished out a plastic bag of gutter hooks, sneaking another peek at him. Had he always been so tall? He had to be a few inches over six foot and he smelled good, like pine.

He snagged the plastic bag of gutter clips and seized a ladder rung. Without a second of hesitation, he climbed with confidence and speed. Since she didn’t want to be shown up by a man, she headed for the second ladder, took a steadying breath and grabbed hold of a metal rung. Lord, please don’t let me crash to my death.

Determined not to visualize doom, she launched off the ground. The ladder trembled and shook with every step she took.

That didn’t bode well, but she kept her eyes on the next rung and didn’t look down. Maybe the height wouldn’t bother her if she didn’t see it. Made sense, right?

The wind gusted, wobbling the ladder. Eek. She clutched the metal, although there was no crashing to the ground and no doom. Still, she hated the way the ground seemed miles away. She swallowed hard, determined to keep going.

“Why don’t you get down?” Michael’s deep baritone warmed the words, he really was a good guy. “I’ve got this.”

“You aren’t getting rid of me that easily. Sorry.” She might not like heights, but no way was she quitting. Not when she’d made up her mind to do something.

Determined, she trained her gaze on the gutter above. Three steps more. Two. Safely at the top she slowly uncoiled the string of lights and hoped Michael didn’t notice how much her hands were shaking.

Chapter Three

Michael nudged the small plastic hanger into place, tried to keep his attention on the eight or so inches of white stuff piled precariously on the roof over his head and failed. His gaze slid to the woman clutching the gutter lip with what appeared to be all her strength. Why didn’t she just let him do this? “Are you always this stubborn?”

“Usually more.” If she gripped the gutter any tighter, something was going to break. “Rumor has it, stubborn is my middle name.”

“Hey, mine too.” His own laughter surprised him, causing him to almost lose his balance. The ladder wobbled, his hand shot out, hit the snow on the roof and a cold avalanche rained over him. Icy stuff hit him in the face, slid down his coat collar and kept coming in a glittery white fall, blinding him. He probably looked like an idiot.

“Good one,” she quipped. “Now who has a death grip on the gutter?”

“I’m usually more suave than this. Smooth. Debonair.” He batted snow out of his face.

“I noticed that the first instant we met.” Humor laced her words.

She had to remind him of that, didn’t she? Not that he could see her just now because another wave of falling snow smacked him in the face.

“Need any help?” she asked.

“No.” Debonair he was not. He blinked snow out of his eyes. “This looked easier from the ground.”

“It always does.”

The avalanche finally stopped and he ran a gloved hand over his eyes, able to blink. Ice clung to his lashes and gleamed in the sun so when he looked at her, she seemed framed by light, surreal, a vision come to life.

“Maybe it would have been smarter to let the sun melt some of this before we started, but did I think of it? No.” She clipped her string of lights into the plastic hook. “My sisters wanted to get the lights up before Dad gets home.”

“So he’s usually on light duty?”

“True, but one of us always helps him. The job goes faster that way and besides, you can’t help wanting to spend time with Dad.”

“So this time you want to surprise him?” He cringed when a trickle of ice slipped between his shirt and his collarbone.

“Something like that. See, Dad always put up the lights with Mom’s supervision. Since she’s been gone...” There were no words to describe the loss. She focused on stringing the lights, getting them to sit just right in the clips. “Mom was big into Christmas. Lights and decorations and Christmas carols playing. The works.”

“You don’t want your father to feel her loss while he’s hanging the lights.” Understanding softened his granite features and warmed the low notes of his voice. “It’s easier to go on when you don’t stop to feel the loss.”

“Exactly.” Interesting that they had this in common. She didn’t like that her estimation of him crept up a notch. “Is that what you do? You try not to feel the grief?”

“I try to forget it. Bury it. Psychologists might not agree, but it works for me.”

“Me, too. Last Christmas we couldn’t put up as much as a tree.” She thought of the seasonal cheer, the festive joy, the touches of caring her mother had brought to the holiday and to her family. “This year, we’re trying to do Christmas the way she would have wanted.”

“It’s a tough thing to do. Two Christmases have gone by for us, this will be our third.” He hung another length of lights. “It was hardest on Macie.”

“I’m so sorry for that. Do you have other family in the area?”

“My folks live in town. They moved here after I set up practice, to be closer to their granddaughter.” The wind gusted, ruffling his sandy brown hair. “Mom always does Christmas right, and she can cook. Can’t wait for her turkey and stuffing.”

“My mom was a good cook, too. But me? Not so much.” She clipped more lights in place, ignoring the fact that her fingertips were numb with cold.

“You? A bad cook? I don’t believe that. You look like there’s nothing you do badly.”

She would not be charmed by his compliment and a hint of a dimple. “I’m too clinical. I approach cooking like a lab experiment. Exact measurements with the potential of anything going wrong.”

“But the outcome is edible.”

“Mostly, but it’s been frozen dinners for years. Med school, intern, resident. No time.”

“I remember well.” His gaze met hers, zooming across the distance between them as if there were no distance, as if they were no longer strangers, as if he were way too close.

Shyness swept through her and she jerked her gaze away. Her forearm bumped the gutter and snow tumbled onto her head, momentarily blinding her.

“Don’t worry.” His words carried on the wind. “Eventually the ice melts and then you’re just wet.”

“Something to look forward to.” The snow just kept on coming. She sputtered, held onto the gutter for dear life and thought she heard the rattle of a ladder that sounded suspiciously closer than it used to be. Sure enough, the avalanche stopped and there was Michael so near she could reach out and push him.

“At least the lights look good.” He leaned across the foot and half of space between them to brush snow from her face.

Air stalled in her throat, choking her. Really, she could do it herself, but she didn’t move. She blinked, able to see the shaven texture of his strong, square jaw and flecks of ice blue in his irises.

“Are you okay?” Concern crinkled pleasantly in the corners of those irresistible eyes.

“Sure. That was invigorating.”

“Nothing like a snowy winter’s morning on the roof.” His glove swiped snow away from her coat collar.

That was really nice of him, but he was making her dizzy. Somehow she managed to draw in air. “Thanks, but I’m not Macie.”

“Right, got it.” He handily grabbed the end of her lights dangling from the clip and plugged his string in. The icicle lights dangled and glowed, lovely even in the daylight. “I just didn’t want you falling.”