A Cinderella Story: Maid Under the Mistletoe / My Fair Billionaire / Second Chance with the CEO
Maybe if he’d opened his mouth the night before, she might have told him about this trip into town and he could have offered to drive them. Or at the very least, she could have driven his truck. Then he wouldn’t be standing here wondering if her damn car had spun out.
Why the hell was he watching? Why did he care if she was safe or not? Why did he even bother to ask himself why? He knew damn well that his own past was feeding the sense of disquiet that clung to him. So despite resenting his own need to do it, he stayed where he was, watching. Waiting.
Which was why he was in place to see Ken Taylor when he arrived. Taylor and his wife, Emma, ran the gallery/gift shop in Franklin that mostly catered to tourists who came up the mountain for snow skiing in winter and boating on the lake in summer. Their shop, Crafty, sold local artisans’ work—everything from paintings to jewelry to candles to the hand-made furniture and decor that Sam made.
Grateful for the distraction, Sam shrugged into his black leather jacket and headed out of the workshop into the cold bite of the wind and swirl of snowflakes. Tugging the collar up around his neck, Sam squinted into the wind and walked over to meet the man as he climbed out of his truck.
“Hey, Sam.” Ken held out one hand and Sam shook it.
“Thanks for coming out to get the table,” Sam said. “Appreciate it.”
“Hey, you keep building them, I’ll drive up the mountain to pick them up.” Ken grinned. About forty, he had pulled his black hair into a ponytail at the base of his neck. He wore a heavy brown coat over a flannel shirt, blue jeans and black work boots. He opened the gate at the back of his truck, then grinned at Sam. “One of these times, though, you should come into town yourself so you can see the reactions of the people who buy your stuff.” Shaking his head, he mused, “I mean, they all but applaud when we bring in new stock.”
“Good to know,” Sam said. It was odd, he thought, that he’d taken what had once been a hobby—woodworking—and turned it into an outlet for the creativity that had been choked off years ago. He liked knowing that his work was appreciated.
Once upon a time, he’d been lauded in magazines and newspapers. Reporters had badgered him for interviews, and one or two of his paintings actually hung in European palaces. He’d been the darling of the art world, and he’d enjoyed it all. He’d poured his heart and soul into his work and drank in the adulation as his due. Sam had so loved his work, he’d buried himself in it to the detriment of everything else. His life outside the art world had drifted past without him even realizing it.
Sam hadn’t paid attention to what should have been most important, and before he could learn his lesson and make changes, he’d lost it and all he had left was the art. The paintings. The name he’d carved for himself. Left alone, it was only when he had been broken that he realized how empty it all was. How much he’d sacrificed for the glory.
So he wasn’t interested in applause. Not anymore.
“No thanks,” he said, forcing a smile in spite of his dark thoughts. He couldn’t explain why he didn’t want to meet prospective customers, why he didn’t care about hearing praise, so he said, “I figure being the hermit on the mountain probably adds to the mystique. Why ruin that by showing up in town?”
Ken looked at him, as if he were trying to figure him out, but a second later, shook his head. “Up to you, man. But anytime you change your mind, Emma would love to have you as the star of our next Meet the Artist night.”
Sam laughed shortly. “Well, that sounds hideous.”
Ken laughed, too. “I’ll admit that it really is. Emma drives me nuts planning the snacks to get from Nibbles, putting out press releases, and the last time, she even bought some radio ads in Boise...” He trailed off and sighed. “And the artist managed to insult almost everyone in town. Don’t understand these artsy types, but I’m happy enough to sell their stuff.” He stopped, winced. “No offense.”
“None taken,” Sam assured him. “Believe me.” He’d known plenty of the kind of artists Ken was describing. Those who so believed in their own press no one could stand to be around them.
“But, Emma loves doing it, of course, and I have to give it to her, we do big business on those nights.”
Imagining being in the center of a crowd hungering to be close to an artist, to ask him questions, hang on everything he said, talk about the “art”... It all gave Sam cold chills and he realized just how far he’d come from the man he’d once been. “Yeah, like I said, awful.”
“I even have to wear a suit. What’s up with that?” Ken shook his head glumly and followed after Sam when he headed for the workshop door. “The only thing I like about it is the food, really. Nibbles has so many great things. My favorite’s those tiny grilled cheese sandwiches. I can eat a dozen of ’em and still come back for more...”
Sam was hardly listening. He’d done so many of those “artist meets the public” nights years ago that he had zero interest in hearing about them now. His life, his world, had changed so much since then, he couldn’t even imagine being a part of that scene anymore.
Ken was still talking. “Speaking of food, I saw Joy and Holly at the restaurant as I was leaving town.”
Sam turned to look at him.
Ken shrugged. “Deb Casey and her husband, Sean, own Nibbles, and Deb and Joy are tight. She was probably in there visiting since they haven’t seen each other in a while. How’s it going with the two of them living here?”
“It’s fine.” What the hell else could he say? That Joy was driving him crazy? That he missed Holly coming into the workshop? That as much as he didn’t want them there, he didn’t want them gone even more? Made him sound like a lunatic. Hell, maybe he was.
Sam walked up to the table and drew off the heavy tarp he’d had protecting the finished table. Watery gray light washed through the windows and seemed to make the tabletop shine.
“Whoa.” Ken’s voice went soft and awe-filled. “Man, you’ve got some kind of talent. This piece is amazing. We’re going to have customers outbidding each other trying to get it.” He bent down, examined the twisted, gnarled branch pedestal, then stood again to admire the flash of the wood grain beneath the layers of varnish. “Dude, you could be in an art gallery with this kind of work.”
Sam stiffened. He’d been in enough art galleries for a lifetime, he thought, and had no desire to do it again. That life had ultimately brought him nothing but pain, and it was best left buried in the past.
“Your shop works for me,” he finally said.
Ken glanced at him. The steady look in his eyes told Sam that he was wondering about him. But that was nothing new. Everyone in the town of Franklin had no doubt been wondering about him since he first arrived and holed up in this house on the mountain. He had no answers to give any of them, because the man he used to be was a man even Sam didn’t know anymore. And that’s just the way he liked it.
“Well, maybe one day you’ll explain to me what’s behind you hiding out up here.” Ken gave him a slap on the back. “Until then, though, I’d be a fool to complain when you’re creating things like this for me to sell—and I’m no fool.”
Sam liked Ken. The man was the closest thing to a friend Sam had had in years. And still, he couldn’t bring himself to tell Ken about the past. About the mess he’d made of his life before finding this house on the mountain. So Sam concentrated instead on securing a tarp over the table and making sure it was tied down against the wind and dampness of the snow and rain. Ken helped him cover that with another tarp, wrapping this one all the way down and under the foot of the pedestal. Double protection since Sam really hated the idea of having the finish on the table ruined before it even made it into the shop. It took both of them to carry the table to the truck and secure it with bungee cords in the bed. Once it was done, Sam stuffed his hands into the pockets of his jacket and nodded to Ken as the man climbed behind the wheel.
“Y’know, I’m going to say this—just like I do every time I come out here—even knowing you’ll say ‘no, thanks.’”
Sam gave him a half smile, because he was ready for what was coming next. How could he not be? As Ken said, he made the suggestion every time he was here.
“Why don’t you come into town some night?” the other man asked, forearm braced on the car door. “We’ll get a couple beers, tell some lies...”
“No, thanks,” Sam said and almost laughed at the knowing smile creasing Ken’s face. If, for the first time, he was almost tempted to take the man up on it, he’d keep that to himself.
“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” Ken nodded and gave him a rueful smile. “But if you change your mind...”
“I’ll let you know. Thanks for coming out to pick up the table.”
“I’ll let you know as soon as we sell it.”
“I trust you,” Sam said.
“Yeah, I wish that was true,” Ken told him with another long, thoughtful look.
“It is.”
“About the work, sure, I get that,” Ken said. “But I want you to know, you can trust me beyond that, too. Whether you actually do or not.”
Sam had known Ken and Emma for four years, and if he was looking for friendships, he couldn’t do any better and he knew it. But getting close to people—be it Ken or Joy—meant allowing them close enough to know about his past. And the fewer people who knew, the less pity he had to deal with. So he’d be alone.
“Appreciate it.” He slapped the side of the truck and took a step back.
“I’ll see you, then.”
Ken drove off and when the roar of his engine died away, Sam was left in the cold with only the sigh of the wind through the trees for company. Just the way he liked it.
Right?
Five
“Oh, God, look at her with that puppy,” Joy said on a sigh.
Her heart filled and ached as she watched Holly laughing at the black Lab puppy jumping at her legs. How could one little girl mean so much? Joy wondered.
When she’d first found herself pregnant, Joy remembered the rush of pleasure, excitement that she’d felt. It hadn’t mattered to her that she was single and not exactly financially stable. All she’d been able to think was, she would finally have her own family. Her child.
Joy had been living in Boise back then, starting up her virtual assistant business and working with several of the small businesses in town. One of those was Mike’s Bikes, a custom motorcycle shop owned by Mike Davis.
Mike was charming, handsome and had the whole bad-boy thing going for him, and Joy fell hard and fast. Swept off her feet, she gave herself up to her first real love affair and thought it would be forever. It lasted until the day she told Mike she was pregnant, expecting to see the same happiness in him that she was feeling. Mike, though, had no interest in being anyone’s father—or husband, if it came to that. He told her they were through. She was a good time for a while, but the good time was over. He signed a paper relinquishing all future rights to the child he’d created and Joy walked away.
When she was a kid, she’d come to Franklin with a foster family for a long weekend in the woods and she’d never forgotten it. So when she needed a fresh start for her and her baby, Joy had come here, to this tiny mountain town. And here is where she’d made friends, built her family and, at long last, had finally felt as though she belonged.
And of all the things she’d been gifted with since moving here, Deb Casey, her best friend, was at the top of the list.
Deb Casey walked to Joy and looked out the window at the two little girls rolling around on the winter brown grass with a fat black puppy. Their laughter and the puppy’s yips of excitement brought a quick smile. “She’s as crazy about that puppy as my Lizzie.”
“I know.” Joy sighed a little and leaned on her friend’s kitchen counter. “Holly’s telling everyone she’s getting a puppy of her own for Christmas.”
“A white one,” Deb supplied.
Rolling her eyes, Joy shook her head. “I’ve even been into Boise looking for a white puppy, and no one has any. I guess I’m going to have to start preparing her for the fact that Santa can’t always bring you what you want.”
“Oh, I hate that.” Deb turned back to the wide kitchen island and the tray of tiny brownies she was finishing off with swirls of white chocolate icing. “You’ve still got a few weeks till Christmas. You might find one.”
“I’ll keep looking, sure. But,” Joy said, resigned, “she might have to wait.”
“Because kids wait so well,” Deb said with a snort of laughter.
“You’re not helping.”
“Have a brownie. That’s the kind of help you need.”
“Sold.” Joy leaned in and grabbed one of the tiny brownies that was no more than two bites of chocolate heaven.
The brownies, along with miniature lemon meringue pies, tiny chocolate chip cookies and miniscule Napoleons, would be filling the glass cases at Nibbles by this afternoon. The restaurant had been open for only a couple of years, but it had been a hit from the first day. Who wouldn’t love going for lunch where you could try four or five different types of sandwiches—none of them bigger than a bite or two? Gourmet flavors, a fun atmosphere and desserts that could bring a grown woman to tears of joy, Nibbles had it all.
“Oh, God, this should be illegal,” Joy said around a mouthful of amazing brownie.
“Ah, then I couldn’t sell them.” Deb swirled white chocolate on a few more of the brownies. “So, how’s it going up there with the Old Man of the Mountain?”
“He’s not old.”
“No kidding.” Deb grinned. “I saw him sneaking into the gallery last summer, and I couldn’t believe it. It was like catching a glimpse of a unicorn. A gorgeous unicorn, I’ve got to say.”
Joy took another brownie and bit into it. Gorgeous covered it. Of course, there was also intriguing, desirable, fascinating, and as yummy as this brownie. “Yeah, he is.”
“Still.” Deb looked up at Joy. “Could he be more antisocial? I mean, I get why and all, but aren’t you going nuts up there with no one to talk to?”
“I talk to him,” Joy argued.
“Yes, but does he talk back?”
“Not really, though in his defense, I do talk a lot.” Joy shrugged. “Maybe it’s hard for him to get a word in.”
“Not that hard for me.”
“We’re women. Nothing’s that hard for us.”
“Okay, granted.” Deb smiled, put the frosting back down and planted both hands on the counter. “But what’s really going on with you? I notice you’re awful quick to defend him. Your protective streak is coming out.”
That was the only problem with a best friend, Joy thought. Sometimes they saw too much. Deb knew that Joy hadn’t dated anyone in years. That she hadn’t had any interest in sparking a relationship—since her last one had ended so memorably. So of course she would pick up on the fact that Joy was suddenly very interested in one particular man.
“It’s nothing.”
“Sure,” Deb said with a snort of derision. “I believe that.”
“Fine, it’s something,” Joy admitted. “I’m not sure what, though.”
“But he’s so not the kind of guy I would expect you to be interested in. He’s so—cold.”
Oh, there was plenty of heat inside Sam Henry. He just kept it all tamped down. Maybe that’s what drew her to him, Joy thought. The mystery of him. Most men were fairly transparent, but Sam had hidden depths that practically demanded she unearth them. She couldn’t get the image of the shadows in his eyes out of her mind. She wanted to know why he was so shut down. Wanted to know how to open him up.
Smiling now, she said, “Holly keeps telling me he’s not mean, he’s just crabby.”
Deb laughed. “Is he?”
“Oh, definitely. But I don’t know why.”
“I might.”
“What?”
Deb sighed heavily. “Okay, I admit that when you went to stay up there, I was a little worried that maybe he was some crazed weirdo with a closet full of women’s bones or something.”
“I keep telling you, stop watching those horror movies.”
Deb grinned. “Can’t. Love ’em.” She picked up the frosting bag as if she needed to be doing something while she told the story. “Anyway, I spent a lot of time online, researching the local hermit and—”
“What?” And why hadn’t Joy done the same thing? Well, she knew why. It had felt like a major intrusion on his privacy. She’d wanted to get him to actually tell her about himself. Yet here she was now, ready to pump Deb for the information she herself hadn’t wanted to look for.
“You know he used to be a painter.”
“Yes, that much I knew.” Joy took a seat at one of the counter stools and kept her gaze fixed on Deb’s blue eyes.
“He was famous. I mean famous.” She paused for emphasis. “Then about five years ago, he just stopped painting entirely. Walked away from his career and the fame and fortune and moved to the mountains to hide out.”
“You’re not telling me anything I didn’t know so far.”
“I’m getting there.” Sighing, Deb said softly, “His wife and three-year-old son died in a car wreck five years ago.”
Joy felt as though she’d been punched in the stomach. The air left her lungs as sympathetic pain tore at her. Tears welled in her eyes as she tried to imagine that kind of hell. That kind of devastation. “Oh, my God.”
“Yeah, I know,” Deb said with a wince. Laying down the pastry bag, she added, “When I found out, I felt so bad for him.”
Joy did, too. She couldn’t even conceive the level of pain Sam had experienced. Even the thought of such a loss was shattering. Remembering the darkness in his eyes, Joy’s heart hurt for him and ached to somehow ease the grief that even five years later still held him in a tight fist. Now at least she could understand a little better why he’d closed himself off from the world.
He’d hidden himself away on a mountaintop to escape the pain that was stalking him. She saw it in his eyes every time she looked at him. Those shadows that were a part of him were really just reflections of the pain that was in his heart. Of course he was still feeling the soul-crushing pain of losing his family. God, just the thought of losing Holly was enough to bring her to her knees.
Instinctively, she moved to Deb’s kitchen window and looked out at two little girls playing with a puppy. Her gaze locked on her daughter, Joy had to blink a sheen of tears from her eyes. So small. So innocent. To have that...magic winked out like a blown-out match? She couldn’t imagine it. Didn’t want to try.
“God, this explains so much,” she whispered.
Deb walked to her side. “It does. But Joy, before you start riding to the rescue, think about it. It’s been five years since he lost his family, and as far as I know, he’s never talked about it. I don’t think anyone in town even knows about his past.”
“Probably not,” she said, “unless they took the time to do an internet search on him.”
Deb winced again. “Maybe I shouldn’t have. Sort of feels like intruding on his privacy, now that I know.”
“No, I’m glad you did. Glad you told me,” Joy said, with a firm shake of her head. “I just wish I’d thought of doing it myself. Heck, I’m on the internet all the time, just working.”
“That’s why it didn’t occur to you,” Deb told her. “The internet is work for you. For the rest of us, it’s a vast pool of unsubstantiated information.”
She had a point. “Well, then I’m glad I came by today to get your updates for your website.”
As a virtual assistant, Joy designed and managed websites for most of the shops in town, plus the medical clinic, plus she worked for a few mystery authors who lived all over the country. It was the perfect job for her, since she was very good at computer programming and it allowed her to work at home and be with Holly instead of sending the little girl out to day care.
But, because she spent so much time online for her job, she rarely took the time to browse sites for fun. Which was why it hadn’t even occurred to her to look up Sam Henry.
Heart heavy, Joy looked through the window and watched as Holly fell back onto the dry grass, laughing as the puppy lunged up to lavish kisses on her face. Holly. God, Joy thought, now she knew why Sam had demanded she keep her daughter away from him. Seeing another child so close to the age of his lost son must be like a knife to the heart.
And yet...she remembered how kind he’d been with Holly in the workshop that first day. How he’d helped her, how Holly had helped him.
Sam hadn’t thrown Holly out. He’d spent time with her. Made her feel important and gave her the satisfaction of building something. He had closed himself off, true, but there was clearly a part of him looking for a way out.
She just had to help him find it.
Except for her nightly monologues in the great room, Joy had been giving him the space he claimed to want. But now she thought maybe it wasn’t space he needed...but less of it. He’d been alone too long, she thought. He’d wrapped himself up in his pain and had been that way so long now, it probably felt normal to him. So, Joy told herself, if he wouldn’t go into the world, then the world would just have to go to him.
“You’re a born nurturer,” Deb whispered, shaking her head.
Joy looked at her.
“I can see it on your face. You’re going to try to ‘save’ him.”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Oh, honey,” Deb said, “you didn’t have to.”
“It’s annoying to be read so easily.”
“Only because I love you.” Deb smiled. “But Joy, before you jump feetfirst into this, maybe you should consider that Sam might not want to be saved.”
She was sure Deb was right. He didn’t want to come out of the darkness. It had become his world. His, in a weird way, comfort zone. That didn’t make it right.
“Even if he doesn’t want it,” Joy murmured, “he needs it.”
“What exactly are you thinking?” Deb asked.
Too many things, Joy realized. Protecting Holly, reaching Sam, preparing for Christmas, keeping up with all of the holiday work she had to do for her clients... Oh, whom was she kidding? At the moment, Sam was uppermost in her mind. She was going to drag him back into the land of the living, and she had the distinct feeling he was going to put up a fight.
“I’m thinking that maybe I’m in way over my head.”
Deb sighed a little. “How deep is the pool?”
“Pretty deep,” Joy mused, thinking about her reaction to him, the late-night talks in the great room where it was just the two of them and the haunted look in his eyes that pulled at her.
Deb bumped her hip against Joy’s. “I see that look in your eyes. You’re already attached.”
She was. Pointless to deny it, especially to Deb of all people, since she could read Joy so easily.
“Yes,” she said and heard the worry in her own voice, “but like I said, it’s pretty deep waters.”
“I’m not worried,” Deb told her with a grin. “You’re a good swimmer.”
* * *
That night, things were different.
When Sam came to dinner in the dining room, Joy and Holly were already seated, waiting for him. Since every other night, the two of them were in the kitchen, he looked thrown for a second. She gave him a smile even as Holly called out, “Hi, Sam!”
If anything, he looked warier than just a moment before. “What’s this?”
“It’s called a communal meal,” Joy told him, serving up a bowl of stew with dumplings. She set the bowl down at his usual seat, poured them both a glass of wine, then checked to make sure Holly was settled beside her.
“Mommy made dumplings. They’re really good,” the little girl said.
“I’m sure.” Reluctantly, he took a seat then looked at Joy. “This is not part of our agreement.”
He looked, she thought, as if he were cornered. Well, good, because he was. Dragging him out of the darkness was going to be a step-by-step journey—and it started now.
“Actually...” she told him, spooning up a bite of her own stew, then sighing dramatically at the taste. Okay, yes she was a good cook, but she was putting it on for his benefit. And it was working. She saw him glance at the steaming bowl in front of his chair, even though he hadn’t taken a bite yet. “...our agreement was that I clean and cook. We never agreed to not eat together.”