Cathy Mcdavid - His Christmas Sweetheart

“I wish I did.”

His sincerity touched her. Without thinking, she reached across the table and laid her hand atop his uninjured one. For several seconds he froze. Then he jerked his hand away with such speed, he knocked her arm sideways.

Miranda gathered herself, feeling a little hurt. “Sorry about that. I’m a touchy-feely kind of person. Goes with the territory, being in the medical profession and from a large family.”

He remained silent.

“Look, Will, I didn’t mean to upset you.”

She noticed then that he was breathing regularly. Really regularly. As if he was counting his breaths. His hands had disappeared beneath the tabletop, and she thought she heard the snapping of a rubber band against skin.

Well, wasn’t that curious?

She wanted to ask him about the snapping—who wouldn’t?—but, for once, she curbed her impulses. What she’d learned about Will during the past few months was that he defined the term “private person” and wouldn’t appreciate her prodding.

“I didn’t... I wasn’t expecting it.”

She hadn’t been expecting it, either. Reaching for Will’s hand had been an impulse. The response to a moment of feeling connected to him. She’d thought—hoped—the connection was reciprocal.

“Hey, no worries.” She grabbed her spoon and polished off the last of her sundae. “I’m not easily offended. If I was, I wouldn’t surround myself with crotchety old people and a smart-mouthed aide.”

“Are they really that bad?”

“Other than Mrs. Litey? Heavens, no. I love my job. I even love her. On her good days.”

The reminder that he hadn’t been around much wasn’t lost on him. “Give her my best,” he said with an end-of-discussion abruptness.

As if that would stop her. “Which is it? Your work or visiting Mrs. Litey?”

Now it was his turn to ask, “I beg your pardon?”

“What don’t you want to talk about?”

He developed an avid interest in finishing his boring single scoop of vanilla ice cream.

“Fine. None of my business.” Except she wasn’t able to keep her mouth shut. “The thing is, I’ve come to depend on your visits, and I shouldn’t have. Mrs. Litey is my responsibility.”

“I like visiting her.”

“So it’s work, then.”

“I’ve been marking the cross-country ski trails.”

“How’s that going?”

“Not easy.”

“I imagine the fire’s made it hard to find decent trails.”

He nodded.

“If you need any help, give me a holler.” When his brows lifted in surprise, she said, “What? I know these woods better than most. Better than you, I bet.”

“Right.”

“Ha. You forget, or maybe you don’t know, my dad was assistant superintendent of the Sierra Consolidated Mining Company. He dragged us kids over every inch of these mountains when we were growing up.”

“Your mother’s also a nurse.”

Well, well. He’d done some of his own research. On her. Miranda was pleased.

“I followed in her footsteps. After earning my degree, I worked a few years at the Renown Regional Medical Center in Reno. That’s where I became interested in elder care. When I moved back to Sweetheart, I worked at the clinic with my mom for a while. Then the economy tanked, and Dad lost his job at the mining company. He and Mom moved to Tahoe City. She still works as a nurse, and Dad’s a stay-at-home Mr. Mom. I have two new foster sisters, nine-year-old twins.”

“How many altogether?”

“Foster siblings? Eight. And my parents love every one of us like their own. They’re pretty amazing people.”

“I’d say.”

“What about your parents? Are they in the Tahoe area?”

“No.”

“Another state?”

“No.”

His short replies were no doubt intended to put her off, but they only served to make her more curious. Will was a puzzle, and Miranda had a fondness for puzzles. “I take it you aren’t close to them.”

He waited a beat before answering. “They’re dead. They were killed in an accident.”

She nearly jumped at the jolt that shot through her, and pressed a hand to her middle. The sundae in her stomach sat like a heavy stone.

“I’m so sorry.” She couldn’t imagine the horror of losing both her parents at once. “How awful for you.”

He looked at her across the table, emotion once again flaring in his eyes. Not heat and definitely not passion. Anger perhaps? Remorse?

“It was more awful for them,” he ground out.

“When did it happen? How old were you?”

Standing, he announced, “I have to go,” and let in a gust of cold air as he exited the parlor, which reached Miranda clear on her side of the room. She waited a minute before collecting her things.

Will was even more complex than she’d originally thought. And more damaged. She’d be smart to leave him be, as he clearly wasn’t ready for any kind of romantic relationship.

Except Miranda didn’t think she could. She wasn’t just attracted to him or challenged by him, she was fond of him. Growing fonder by the day. He was like no man she’d ever met.

Outside she glanced up and down the street. Her car was parked two blocks away, near the bank. Seeing the building’s brick facade, she was again reminded of her financial dilemma. Determination surged inside her. She wasn’t one to let a minor setback derail her from her goals. If she needed extra money to keep her business afloat, she’d get it. One way or the other.

Setting off, she strode confidently toward the Paydirt Saloon. During college when she’d come home for the summers, she’d worked part-time at the Paydirt, earning extra money to supplement her scholarships.

The mayor was clearing tables amid the sparse gathering of afternoon regulars. Behind the bar, the mayor’s son washed glassware. Both issued her a friendly hello.

“What can I get you today?” the mayor asked when Miranda approached.

Without hesitating, she relieved the mayor of the tray she was holding and reached for the towel on the table. “A job. Even a few hours a week if that’s all you have.”

Mayor Dempsey studied her critically.

Miranda braced herself for a slew of questions. Why did she need a job? What about her elder-care home? What made Miranda think there was a position available when employment in Sweetheart was as scarce as crow’s teeth? She also braced herself for rejection.

To her overwhelming relief, the mayor’s expression softened. “I assume you can start today.”

* * *

“YOU ABLE TO ride with that bum wrist?” Sam asked.

Will tugged the cinch tighter and looped the excess strap into a tight knot. Gripping the pommel and back of the seat, he tugged and demonstrated how little his injury bothered him by testing the saddle’s stability.

Rocket Dog, a stout, sassy four-year-old mare that had originally belonged to Will’s former employer, High Country Outfitters, pawed the ground in anticipation. This one liked the cold weather and the challenge of climbing steep frost-covered hills. She was a perfect match for Will’s current mood.

“Why aren’t you taking one of the ATVs?” Sam leaned against the corral fence and crossed his arms over his chest.

Will double-checked the maps in his saddlebags and his supplies. Two bottles of water, a thermos of black coffee and a protein bar. That should be enough to last the morning.

“Some of the trails I want to mark are blocked by fallen timber.”

Easier to ride a horse over the obstructions than drive an ATV around them. In his opinion anyway.

“I’m thinking you have enough trails already marked. We don’t have many skiers making reservations.”

“Could change.”

He wasn’t one to oppose his boss, and if Sam insisted, he’d cancel the outing or take an ATV. In truth, the ride was more for him than work related. Will needed the solitude and the feel of a horse beneath him. The more he was in the company of others, the more tangled his thoughts became. Alone he could sort them out and compartmentalize them. Less likely to plague him that way.