Carla Neggers - A Knights Bridge Christmas

Then there was Clare Morgan herself. He doubted she’d expected to run into anyone under seventy, except for staff, when she’d carried her box of books into the assisted-living facility. How could he have not noticed the curve of her hip and her unmistakable annoyance when she’d overheard him?

He noticed a library newsletter on a table by the fireplace. It included a note from the chairman of the board of trustees welcoming their new library director.

Logan sat on the couch and read.

Clare Morgan comes to Knights Bridge from the Boston Public Library, our nation’s oldest public library. It’s been her fondest dream to work in a small-town library, and with family roots in the lost towns of the Swift River Valley, she’s pleased to be in our small town. Please take the time to welcome her and her son, Owen, to Knights Bridge.

“Well, well,” Logan said aloud.

So, the fair-haired, book-toting small-town librarian knew something of the big city herself. He wondered how long it would take him to find out what had happened to her husband, then dismissed the thought. He could push people and rules to the limit when it suited him, but he wasn’t crossing that line. If Clare wanted him to know, she could tell him.

Whatever her background, Logan figured he could do worse for decorating help. It could be Randy Frost showing up at nine o’clock tomorrow instead of pretty Clare Morgan.

* * *

Fruit, carrot sticks, cheese and a glass of wine sufficed for dinner. Soon after, Logan, bored, went upstairs to the back bedroom where he used to stay as a boy. It had been his father’s room and he doubted it had changed since then. It had two twin beds with a matching dresser and bookshelves. He found a biography of Abraham Lincoln and crawled under the covers in one of the beds. He’d made it up when he’d stayed over earlier in the week. Until then, he’d never slept in this house alone. He remembered his grandfather chasing a bat that had swooped down the attic stairs, but that had been in the summer. Logan wouldn’t have to deal with bats tonight.

Nightmares, maybe.

The pipes dinged and pinged with a rush of heat. Wind rattled the windows. A cat yowled in the backyard. Kids—teenagers, he thought—laughed and shouted at each other in the distance, presumably as the skating rink shut down for the night.

As an emergency physician, Logan had developed the skill for falling asleep anytime, anywhere, but he knew he had his work cut out for him tonight.

Three

“The happiness he gives is quite as great as if it cost a fortune.”

—Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol

“WE NEED A bigger house, Mom,” Owen announced over breakfast. He was still in his pajamas, seated across from Clare at the small table that had come with their apartment.

“You have your own room,” she said. She was still in her nightgown and bathrobe, enjoying the lazy winter morning.

Her son raised his gaze to her. “But you don’t have a room.”

“That’s why there’s a sofa bed. The living room turns into my bedroom.”

He looked dubious. He pointed his cereal spoon at her. “ And I can hear the brook at night.”

“Even with the windows shut?”

“Uh-huh. It keeps me awake.”

“Some people find water soothing. The brook will probably freeze before long, and you won’t hear anything but the occasional trickle, if that.”

“There are bears and foxes in the woods. Aidan and Tyler said so.”

Probably true, Clare thought. “I saw three deer last night after you went to bed,” she said.

Her son’s face lit up. “Deer!”

“You’ll see them soon, too. Now let’s finish our breakfast and get dressed. We have a big day ahead of us.”

He dug his spoon into his cereal. “I want to go ice-skating.”

“I have something I need to do this morning. You can help me. Maybe we can go skating this afternoon.”

“Aidan and Tyler said I could go with them and their dad.”

“I want to be with you when you go out on this rink for the first time. It’s not like the indoor rinks you know. Maybe we can go later.”

“You said that last time.”

“Did I? All right. We’ll talk about it on the way into town. Hurry up.”

There were times when Owen so reminded her of his father. Like now, she thought. He had the Morgan scowl, and somehow it made her notice his Morgan chin more, too. He finished his cereal, needed a reminder to take his bowl to the sink and then was off into the sole bedroom. Their apartment was charming and worked well for the two of them, but it was small—even compared to their apartment in the city.

But she loved the atmosphere of the renovated nineteenth-century sawmill, still with its original dam on a rambling, rock-strewn stream. Once she was settled in to her job and had a better feel for the town, she would buy a house in Knights Bridge. Right now, thinking about such a major change—planting real roots here—made her heart race. Her sawmill apartment was fine at least through the winter.

Owen came out of his bedroom chattering about ice-skating. There’d be no talking him out of it, Clare knew. The boy had the bit in his teeth and wouldn’t let go. She had to find a way to make it happen that would satisfy him but reassure her. She hadn’t told him about the secondhand skates yet. She couldn’t place her finger on why skating made her nervous—perhaps because she couldn’t skate worth a hoot herself.

Randy Frost greeted them as he walked down from Frost Millworks, located in a modern building above the original sawmill. The small mill provided high-quality custom millwork for construction and renovations throughout the Northeast, focusing on older buildings. Clare didn’t know much about millwork, but she knew if anyone needed to duplicate a vintage window, this was the place to come. That had already happened with an 1830 Knights Bridge home during her short time in town.

“Louise has some extra greenery if you could use it for the library and Daisy’s house,” Randy said. “I’ve got it in the truck if you’re interested.”

Louise was Randy’s wife, who ran the mill with him. “That would be great,” Clare said, not sure how he’d found out about Daisy’s house. “I’m on my way to town now.”

“The good doctor will be there?”

She nodded without comment. Randy chatted with Owen as they walked up to the parking lot. He grabbed live evergreen boughs from the bed of the truck and put them into her trunk. Clare smiled. “They smell heavenly, don’t they?”

That obviously hadn’t occurred to him. She thanked him, and he wished her luck with the decorating. Once in the car, Owen immediately resumed pressing his case for ice-skating. To add to the cards on his side, when they arrived on South Main, Aidan and Tyler Sloan were skipping up the sidewalk with their father, all three carrying ice skates. The boys eagerly invited Owen to join them.

“I have a pair of skates for him in the trunk, but he’s never used them,” Clare explained. “I haven’t checked them out yet.”

But Logan Farrell came out of the house. “I can take a look at them and make sure they’re in decent shape. What do you think, Clare? Would that be all right with you?”

She nodded, trying to ignore the tightness in her stomach as she popped the trunk to her car.

Brandon Sloan, a strong, competent-looking man, eyed her as if he could tell what she was thinking. “I’ll stick close to Owen.”

“He’s only skated a few times and always indoors.”

“Nothing like your first time skating outdoors. It’s not a lake or a pond. Even if the ice cracks, nothing will happen.”

“He’s excited,” Clare said. “It’s easy to get ahead of yourself when you’re excited. He needs to pay attention to the other skaters.”