The Scrooge Of Loon Lake

It’s the most wonderful time of the year…

…with the grumpiest man in town!

The love of his life left him. The navy discharged him. So former lieutenant Des Gallagher sees no reason to celebrate Christmas—now or ever.

Yet when Natalie Pierce shows up on his doorstep, a bright light enters his gloomy existence. As Des shapes her—and her little son’s—world for the better, she wonders if a scrooge could turn into the perfect Santa…

CARRIE NICHOLS grew up in New England but moved south and traded snow for air conditioning. She loves to travel, is addicted to British crime dramas and knows a Seinfeld quote appropriate for every occasion.

A 2016 RWA Golden Heart® Award winner and two-time Maggie Award for Excellence winner, she has one tolerant husband, two grown sons and two critical cats. To her dismay, Carrie’s characters—like her family—often ignore the wisdom and guidance she offers.

Also by Carrie Nichols

The Marine’s Secret DaughterThe Sergeant’s Unexpected Family

Discover more at millsandboon.co.uk

The Scrooge of Loon Lake

Carrie Nichols

www.millsandboon.co.uk

ISBN: 978-1-474-09178-7

THE SCROOGE OF LOON LAKE

© 2019 Carol Opalinski

Published in Great Britain 2019

by Mills & Boon, an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers 1 London Bridge Street, London, SE1 9GF

All rights reserved including the right of reproduction in whole or in part in any form. This edition is published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, locations and incidents are purely fictional and bear no relationship to any real life individuals, living or dead, or to any actual places, business establishments, locations, events or incidents. Any resemblance is entirely coincidental.

By payment of the required fees, you are granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right and licence to download and install this e-book on your personal computer, tablet computer, smart phone or other electronic reading device only (each a “Licensed Device”) and to access, display and read the text of this e-book on-screen on your Licensed Device. Except to the extent any of these acts shall be permitted pursuant to any mandatory provision of applicable law but no further, no part of this e-book or its text or images may be reproduced, transmitted, distributed, translated, converted or adapted for use on another file format, communicated to the public, downloaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.

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Version: 2020-03-02

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This is dedicated to the two Jills.

My agent, Jill Marsal, who believed in my writing

voice before I knew how to plot or write conflict,

and my walking partner, Jill Ralph, who not only

pulls me away from my desk twice a day but is the

perfect sounding board for story problems.

Contents

Cover

Back Cover Text

About the Author

Booklist

Title Page

Copyright

Note to Readers

Dedication

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Extract

About the Publisher

Chapter One

Desmond “Des” Gallagher heaved a frustrated sigh as he stared at the scattered pieces of colorful glass laid out on his workbench. This was the third day in a row he’d come to the former business office in the spacious barn he now used as his workshop and done nothing but sit and stare. The scarred and chipped wood that made up the table’s surface attested to the fact that work did indeed get done here. Just not today. Or yesterday. He rubbed a hand over the stubble on his face. And not even the day before that. Normally, seeing the glass laid out before him was enough to spark an idea, even if he had no concrete design in mind.

Today’s project was an unfinished stained glass window that could be installed in place of an existing window frame or framed and hung like a painting. While those remained popular, his new love was shattered glass sculptures. Shattering the glass himself, he enjoyed taking those broken pieces and creating something new and better from them. Although he’d experimented with small, blown glass items, he’d shunned the much larger ones because crafting those required more than one person.

Having to think about a project stifled his creativity. His best work came when his brain sent signals directly to his fingers and he assembled pieces without conscious thought. Crazy, but who was he to argue with something that had served him well enough to earn a living? He wasn’t getting rich from it but his art supplemented his military disability.

Stretching his neck, he scowled. Christmas. That was the problem. He couldn’t escape the dreaded holiday nor the painful memories the season triggered. He did his best to avoid going into town from Thanksgiving until well into January because Loon Lake loved its Christmas celebrations. Main Street, with its quaint, brick-front shops huddled around the town green, would soon be decked out in lights, garlands and, God help him, holiday cheer. If he couldn’t get an item at the gas station mini-mart on the edge of town or by ordering online, he went without until after the holidays.

And what was his excuse for avoiding the town the other ten months? He reached for his stainless-steel insulated mug and took a sip of his favorite Sumatran coffee from beans he’d ground that morning. Yeah, he took his coffee seriously. Maybe if he pretended he had an idea one would come. Pfft, talk about clutching at straws. Shaking his head, he set the mug down and reached for the grozier pliers.

“Yoo-hoo? Lieutenant Gallagher?”

His head snapped up at the interruption. A petite blonde woman, dressed in a bright red parka, stood in the doorway. One hand held a red and green tin; the other clutched the hand of a towheaded boy who looked to be about four or five. What the…? He discouraged visitors and studiously shunned community activities to avoid becoming embroiled in the residents’ lives—and thereby ensuring they, in turn, stayed out of his.

How did she even find her way out here? He lived in the back of beyond; his fifty-acre former horse farm could be considered isolated, even in a sparsely populated state like Vermont. His nearest neighbor, Brody Wilson, was five miles away and that was as the crow flew. And unlike Brody, Des had no interest in keeping horses, so the numerous paddocks surrounding the barn remained as empty as the day he’d bought the place. Summers working on a dude ranch had cured him of the romance of horse ownership.

The woman, who appeared to be in her mid-to late-twenties, stepped closer. Close enough for a subtle lavender scent to reach him.

“Hi. I was hoping I could have a minute of your time.” Her broad smile revealed a crooked bottom tooth.

He had no business noticing that tooth, even less thinking it was…what? Not sexy, but appealing in some wholesome, girl-next-door way. He scowled at his thoughts. “Why? Are my minutes better than yours?”

“Sir?” She shook her head, her long, corn-silk hair brushing against, and contrasting with, the cherry-red of her jacket. “No. I—I meant—”

“Unless you know something I don’t, you taking one of my minutes won’t increase yours.” He was acting like a first-class jerk, but she’d set off warning bells. And what was the deal with that sir? It grated on his nerves. Here he was checking her out and she was addressing him as sir. At thirty-four, he couldn’t be more than eight or ten years her senior. He sighed. It wasn’t her language that had him spooked. No, it was his reaction to her that had him acting like a complete ass.

A small furrow appeared in the middle of her forehead. Damn, but she even frowned cute. That clinched it because he wasn’t into cute. And certainly not ones who addressed him as sir. Let it go, Gallagher. His type might be blondes but they were also tall and blatantly sexy with a mouthful of perfect teeth. That disqualified the five-foot-nothing woman with the crooked tooth. Considering how many women he’d been with in the past three years, though, his type would appear to be fictional women.

Her full bottom lip now hid the tooth and he looked away. He rose from the stool he’d been perched on, careful not to put too much weight on his left leg after sitting for so long. Staggering or collapsing in front of her was not the look he was going for. Ha! She’d probably rush to help and his ego had taken enough beating with the sir. That’s letting it go?

Bottom line, he needed to get rid of her before she regrouped, started using that killer smile on him again. He hitched his chin at the tin she carried. “If you’re here from the town’s welcoming committee, you’re three years too late.”

She shook her head, causing her hair to sway. “That’s not why I’m here. I—I saw your work at the General Store and—”

“Then you should’ve bought it there. I don’t sell pieces out of my workshop. Didn’t Tavie explain that?” His location wasn’t a secret, but the tourists and residents of Loon Lake bought his stuff in town and left him alone, and that was the way he liked it. “How did you even find me?”

“It wasn’t easy, believe me.” She gave him a tentative smile.

He grunted. “And yet, here you are.”

“I can be quite resourceful and frankly—” she glanced around the cavernous barn, empty and scrupulously clean except for his cluttered work area “—it’s not exactly some Bond villain’s supersecret lair.”

Her smile seemed to be an invitation to join in, but he deepened his scowl. It was either that or start grinning foolishly. She was charming, and he remembered he didn’t do charming. And, by God, he wouldn’t allow himself to be charmed.

She licked her lips and swallowed. “Tavie gave me directions.”

“That figures,” he muttered.

Octavia “Tavie” Whatley might be proprietress of Loon Lake General Store, but general busybody was her true occupation. Not much went on in town without her knowing about it, but she’d sold more of his pieces than anyone, so he grit his teeth and put up with her. Even with his frugal lifestyle, the military disability only went so far.

“Dear me, where are my manners. I’m Natalie Pierce.” She let go of the boy’s hand and placed her palm over the top of his head in a tender gesture. “And this is my son, Sam.”

The kid grinned up at him, his eyes the same clear August-sky blue as hers. Des nodded to the boy. He had nothing against children. Just women with bright sunny smiles? And let’s not forget that oddly appealing crooked tooth. Damn. He didn’t want or need these distractions. Yeah, because you’re so busy being creative. He told his nothing-but-trouble inner voice to shut up.

“I hate to interrupt—” she began.

“But you’re doing it, anyway.” And the jerk behavior continued. Her presence was flustering him so he was repaying the favor. See if he could fluster her a bit. His reaction wasn’t her fault, but he was in survival mode because that weaponized smile of hers had scrambled his thought process. He’d gone too long without female company. That was it; blame this on self-imposed celibacy.

“Lieutenant Gallagher, I—”

“Call me Des. My navy days are behind me.” His days of being catapulted at one hundred and sixty-five miles an hour from the deck of a carrier in a metal casket worth seventy million dollars were over. He grit his teeth and rubbed his knotted thigh muscles. Why did he want her to call him Des? Saying his given name shouldn’t matter because he was trying to get her and that way too appealing smile out of his barn. Wasn’t he?

“Des,” she said, drawing it out.

“Yeah, but it’s generally one short syllable.” But her version worked. Worked a bit too well, as a matter of fact.

“Sorry.” She inhaled as if she was about to launch into a prepared speech.

He opened his mouth to—

“I’m here to talk to you about handcrafting some items for an auction we’re having. Christmas ornaments would be a real hit this time of year. And it’s for a great cause. There’s this fantastic hippotherapy program that needs—”

“Stop right there.” He held up his hand like a cop halting traffic. “Doesn’t matter the cause. I don’t do Christmas. Period.”

“What? No Christmas? But…but… Why?” She blinked owlishly. “What’s not to love about Christmas?”

How about being a child and spending it with a suicidal mother? Always worried she would disappear. He would’ve been left alone because his biological father wanted nothing to do with Des. In his dad’s mind, Des was proof of an indiscretion while attending an out-of-town conference. “I have my reasons.”

She opened her mouth, but Sam tugged on her sleeve. She looked down, and the boy up, his eyes large and his stare intense, both standing still like they were having a telepathic conversation. One that excluded everyone else, even him. She glanced at her watch, sighed and nodded her head.

“To be honest, it took me much longer than I expected to find this place,” she said, gnawing on her bottom lip, calling his attention to it again.

“Maybe that’s the way I like it,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure if she’d been talking to him, her son or herself. He’d been too distracted by that bottom lip.

She set the tin on the workbench next to his tools. “I have to leave, but I warn you, I don’t give up easily, even if you do cloak yourself in that grumpiness like it’s a virtue.”

The boy tugged on her sleeve in another silent plea and she nodded. There was that nonverbal communication again, reminding Des he wasn’t a part of their world. Not that he wanted to be. Nope. Not one little bit.

She took the boy’s hand in hers. “I’ll be in touch,” she said as if it was a threat and headed for the door.

“Wait,” he called and she turned her head to look over her shoulder. He pointed at the tin. “What’s this?”

“Don’t worry, it’s not a bomb,” she said and smiled briefly. “It’s homemade Christmas bark. Even a grinch like you can’t say no to that.”

“What the heck is…?” He glanced up, but she was gone.

Shaking his head, he opened the tin to reveal irregularly shaped bars of white chocolate covered with red and green M&Ms and crushed candy canes. Grabbing one and taking a large bite, he sank back on the stool and thought about the mystery that was Natalie Pierce. What the heck had just happened? Her soft, lilting voice, coupled with that appealing smile, had taunted him and he wanted to know more about her. Her speech was devoid of the flatter, more nasal vowel tones he’d grown accustomed to since moving here. But neither could he peg her as having a Southern drawl. And the kid hadn’t spoken at all, but he’d smiled and made eye contact. Maybe the boy—Sam—was shy. Des shook his head. None of this was his problem, so why was he wasting time on it?

He glanced at the pieces of colorful glass sitting idle on the bench and his fingers itched to create something. He popped the half-eaten piece of candy into his mouth, brushed his palms together and picked up the pliers.

The next morning Des stood and thrust his shoulders back to work out the kinks from sitting hunched over the workbench. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d pulled an all-nighter, but he wasn’t about to leave and have his muse desert him again. He scratched the scruff on his jaw with his fingertips and glanced at the now-empty tin. Huh. As he’d worked last night, he’d munched on her delicious candy. This stained glass window was of the lake during winter when many of the trees were bare. Up close, the lake and trees were individual pieces, but when standing back, those pieces became shades and ripples of the lake water.

A car door slammed and he scowled as his heart kicked up at the thought that the visitor might be Natalie. Uh-oh. Was she back? Who else could it be? Natalie Pierce had been his only visitor in recent memory. He didn’t know whether to be glad or annoyed. He started to rise but his leg and his inner voice protested. Down, Gallagher. You’re not an addict waiting for your dealer.

It was indeed Natalie Pierce and she was holding her son’s hand again. In the other, she carried a plate wrapped in aluminum foil. What did she bring today?

“I told you I’d be back.” She smiled, the crooked tooth peeking out.

He quirked an eyebrow. “So I should take your threats seriously?”

“Maybe you should.” She laughed.

Heat coursed through his veins at the sound. “Are you in the habit of threatening all the men in your life?”

“Is this your way of asking if I’m married?” she asked with a significant lift of her eyebrows.

Yeah, he was about as subtle as a sidewinder missile. He grunted instead of replying.

“I assure you that Sam is the only man in my life.” She showed him her crooked smile. “One thing you need to know about me, Lieutenant. I follow through on my promises.”

“Des.” He’d enjoyed hearing his name yesterday in that musical voice. Liked it a little too much but he’d worry about that later.

“Des,” she repeated and set the plate on a clean corner at the end of the workbench. “I hope you like gingerbread men. They’re quintessential Christmas, don’t you think?”

He grunted, trying not to give her any encouragement, but his stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t had any breakfast yet.

“I used my grandmother’s recipe and her forged tin cookie cutter.” She let go of the boy’s hand and began removing the foil. “They’re fresh, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. Even after a few days, you can warm them in the microwave and they will have that fresh-from-the-oven taste. Sam likes them best that way. Don’t you, Sam?”

She glanced down at the empty space next to her. “Sam?” Her voice rose. “Sam?”

She uttered something under her breath and raced out of the barn. He’d been so fascinated by her mouth as she spoke, he hadn’t noticed the boy’s disappearing act. But then the kid couldn’t have gotten far, and there wasn’t anything nearby that could hurt him. Des grabbed a cookie and followed her as quickly as his bum leg allowed.

Natalie’s heart hammered as she rushed from the barn. She’d never forgive herself if—She choked back a sob. She was overreacting but couldn’t prevent it.

She had no idea Sam was capable of disappearing so fast or so stealthily. He’d overcome many of his balance issues since starting equine-assisted therapy. Another reason she needed to save the program. And as soon as she found him, she’d celebrate his acting like an adventurous five-year-old boy.

She was gasping for air by the time she located him standing next to a sleek, top-of-the-line, black-and-red snowmobile parked on the side of the barn. He must’ve spotted it on their way in. She’d been so consumed with the prospect of seeing Des again and what she was going to say that she hadn’t paid attention to her surroundings. Shame on her.

She didn’t know a lot about snowmobiles, but she guessed this one was expensive. “Sam, honey, don’t touch.”

Not that she could blame Sam for being curious. Weren’t all little boys fascinated by that sort of stuff? A lump in her throat threatened to cut off her oxygen. For all of his challenges, and Lord knew there were many, Sam was still like all boys his age. After suffering life-threatening injuries, he’d had to learn to walk again but still had occasional balance issues. She’d been warned that his ability to speak might never return. “Be careful. You could hurt yourself.”

“There’s not much chance of that.”

Natalie turned. The lieutenant bit the head off the gingerbread man in his hand. Was his cavalier attitude toward Sam’s safety bugging her, or was it the fact that looking at him had her insides clamoring for…for what? For something she hadn’t wanted in such a long time, she had no name for it. But the strange yearning she couldn’t name made her want to snarl at him in a primal reaction similar to fight or flight. Remember you want his help with the auction. Neither fight nor flight would get her what she wanted for Sam.

“Easy for you to say. He’s not your son,” she pointed out and grit her teeth, not understanding her reaction to Des Gallagher. Grumpiness aside, he wasn’t menacing, despite his disheveled appearance, and yet, he threatened her on some visceral level.

“Even if he was,” he said, brushing cookie crumbs off his shirt as if he didn’t have a care in the world, “it doesn’t change facts.”

She narrowed her eyes at Des as if he represented some sort of threat. He does, a voice screamed at her. But the danger wasn’t physical…well, unless you counted her body’s reaction to him. He wasn’t her type, she argued with herself. For one thing, he was too tall, at least two or three inches over six feet to her mere five foot two. Okay, okay, five feet and one and a half inches. He couldn’t be called charming or even pleasant.

His face was covered in stubble, his eyes a little bloodshot. He appeared to be wearing the same clothes as yesterday, a red-and-black buffalo-plaid flannel shirt over a cream-colored, waffle-knit shirt and faded jeans. Had he been up all night? Working or drinking?

She was going with working because she hadn’t smelled any alcohol or even breath mints on him. Besides, Tavie hadn’t said anything about a drinking problem, and she would know. Natalie was convinced the owner of Loon Lake General Store knew everything about everyone.