Carrie Alexander - A Family Christmas

“Deer season next month,” he said, handing her the mop. “You’ll be full up, I suppose.”

“We have several bookings, but it’s not like the heyday when my dad was here to be the guide.” She wouldn’t have been able to stay if that had been the case. Even their occasional guests were a trial for her. She was wary of all men, but especially strangers, and was on constant alert until they were gone. A lesson learned the hard way.

“That’s a shame.” Evan scanned the woods. Fragrant pine boughs swayed in the breeze. “It’s a picturesque location. Great piece of property.”

Maxine’s Cottages overlooked a particularly nice, secluded section of the Blackbear River—a wide S-curve bubbling with rapids, with a steep slope to the water’s edge, mature forest and no other homes in sight.

“Yeah.” Although her mother had entertained several generous offers, none of them involved keeping the cottages open for rent. Maxine still expected that one of her boys would come home to take over. Rose, under no such delusion, had collected business cards from Realtors and land developers in anticipation of the day her mother saw reason. She did have an attachment to her cottage and the riverside setting, but she’d sacrifice them in a heartbeat if given the opportunity to get out of Dodge.

She stated the obvious. “The place hasn’t been kept up, unfortunately.” All that she could manage was keeping the rooms clean and the grounds trimmed. Paint was peeling off the wood trim, shingles were missing, the faulty plumbing was a constant trial. There wasn’t the money to hire pros, so she tackled the bigger jobs as she could. Her friend and handywoman Roxy had offered to help out, but Rose was uneasy about accepting handouts.

Evan barely glanced at the slipshod maintenance before he turned his gaze on her. His eyes were brilliant, the color of a mug of icy root beer shot with sunlight. Under his perusal, the skin on her cheeks became warm and tight.

“Do you have any plans for the business?”

Rose shook her head. “I’d shut down tomorrow if my mother would allow it. She’s the one in charge.”

“Ahh.” He nodded. “I just met Maxine, over at the main house. She said it would be okay if I came out here to find you. I called the other day, but I guess you didn’t get the message?”

“Sorry.” Rose looked down and mumbled. “My mother must have forgotten to tell me.”

“No problem. I was curious to see your place close up anyway. Never stopped before, even though I’ve driven by a number of times.” His gaze went to her little stone house. “This is the one from the painting you gave to Lucy, isn’t it?”

“Yes. My quarters, for now.”

“Lucy calls it a fairy-tale house. I can see why.”

Rose turned to look at the cottage. While there was nothing fancy about the humble place, it had charm. The stone walls were thick and covered in moss and ivy. Along the side that had a southern exposure, climbing roses grew, dressed for autumn in yellowed, curled leaves and the hard red globes of rose hips. Soon the remaining leaves would fall, revealing the twist of thorny vines. Inside, Rose would build a fire in the woodstove and huddle under layers of wool blankets, hibernating for the winter.

“You’re probably wondering why I’m here,” Evan said.

She half laughed. “Yeah, well, I don’t get many visitors.” Suddenly she winced, realizing she’d fallen down as a host. “Shi—er, sugar. Pardon my manners. I should have asked you to sit. We can go—” No, not inside. “Can I get you a drink?”

“No, thanks. Let’s just sit out here.” Evan didn’t look around for a chair. He lowered his tall frame onto the step where’d she’d parked earlier, then glanced up expectantly.

Of course. She couldn’t remain where she was, standing in front of him. But the step was small and she didn’t like to get too close to strange men, or any men at all, for that matter.

She plopped into the grass, crossing her legs in front of her.

He smiled. “You’ll get cold, sitting on the ground.”

“I’m used to it.”

“All right.” He had an easy manner that smoothed out some of her hackles. “This won’t take long.”

She said nothing, waiting. She hoped he wasn’t going to suggest dinner again. Even though, all week, she’d wondered what might have happened if she’d said yes.

In the end, she’d decided that the only sure outcome was that at least one well-meaning meddler would have made it a mission to warn Evan away from her, and that was too humiliating to contemplate for long. Rejecting his overtures—all overtures—was the only way to stay aloof and protect herself.

“I have a job for you,” he said.

“Oh.” A job. That’s all. She stared down at her lap, where her fingers were tightly braided.

“If you’re interested.”

“I’m pretty busy, but…” Might as well admit what he must be thinking. “I could always use the money.” She made minimum wage at the Buck Stop, and her mother’s disability checks were only enough to sustain her. Medical expenses unpaid by her meager insurance coverage were mounting. The cottages brought in the bare minimum it took to pay their utilities and taxes.

“This job isn’t so much about the money. It’s more of a favor, to help me out. But I will pay, of course. Whatever you think. Fifty per session—does that sound good?”

Rose froze inside, even though a part of her knew that Evan could not be saying what it sounded like. She turned an icy glare on him, the same look that worked on the creeps who came into the Buck Stop thinking she was up for grabs. “Fifty bucks for what?”

He was momentarily rattled. “Wha’d’you—” He winced. “Sorry—I should have explained up front.” He laughed at himself, a little awkwardly. “I’m talking about art lessons for Lucy.”

Rose wanted to cringe with embarrassment. Instead she leaned forward and tore out handfuls of grass. Rip, rip. You’re an idiot. Rip. As if a guy like Evan Grant needs you.

“What do you think?”

“Uh, I don’t have any training for that kind of…thing.” Her voice was like rust, corroding her throat. She had no social skills at all. A total loser.

“I’ve seen you in action. You’re a natural.”

“That was only—” Rip, rip. “Off the cuff.”

“Exactly. That’s what Lucy needs. See, she doesn’t react well to the pressure of a structured environment. She’s in kindergarten now, but already her teacher is telling me she’s intimidated by the classroom and the other students.” Evan stopped and boyishly scrubbed a hand through his short brown hair. His forehead had pleated with worry.

Torn blades of grass fell from Rose’s fingers. “But she’s only just started. She’ll be more comfortable when she gets used to the other kids.”

Rose remembered her own experiences in the classroom. After the freedom at home, where she’d been left to her own amusement most of the time, she’d been ill-prepared for school. The first months had been frightening—the teachers, the children, the strict rules and expectations.

Although she’d never learned to fit in, she had adjusted. In her own way. Lucy was lucky—she was much more socialized than Rose had been.

“That’s what I’m hoping,” Evan said. “Except that when I saw her with you, and then saw how excited she was to get home and try drawing, it occurred to me that if she had something special to give her confidence, something she’s really good at, that would help her overall, you know?”

He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. “She’s a bright girl, but she doesn’t know how to shine. Not since her mother passed away.”

Rose picked at the green flecks on her palms. “I’m sorry for your loss.”