High Country Holiday. Glynna Kaye
“I imagine she intended to, but with everything that’s happened in the past week...” He shrugged, then motioned to the wreaths he’d placed on the counter. “Being kept in the cold shed, they still look and smell as fresh as you could hope for.”
“They do look nice. I’ll get busy calling people on the waiting list.” Still smiling, Sharon placed her hands on her hips and looked up at him. “Aren’t you the finest of Santa’s helpers, doll.”
With a laugh, she impulsively whipped off her holiday hat and stood on tiptoe to secure it on Cody’s handsome head. Startled, he glanced uneasily around the store, no doubt to ensure no one had observed the indignity of his impromptu elf act.
Paris couldn’t help but smile, but she didn’t anticipate the knee-buckling impact when his dark-eyed gaze collided with hers.
Cody groaned inwardly. Not because Paris caught him with the silly hat on his head, but because she was more beautiful today than she’d been yesterday. How was that even possible?
He swallowed the lump forming in his throat as the seconds ticked, taking in her trim, shapely figure, the brightness of her expressive gray eyes, the delicate curve of her sweet mouth...
Then, coming to his senses, he broke eye contact when he realized she wasn’t alone. A frowning Elizabeth Herrington stood beside her. Her mother-in-law.
He sheepishly removed the ridiculous hat from his head, then handed it to Sharon. “I’ll get the rest of the wreaths out of the truck.”
“Do that, doll. I’ll move these to a back room. It’s warm in here with that woodstove blazing away.”
He nodded, his eyes averted from Paris, then headed outside. He let down the tailgate and lifted the lightweight tarp to reveal half a dozen more wreaths. Well, it could have been worse. It could have been Paris’s husband who caught him staring awestruck at his beautiful wife. Her mother-in-law catching him in the act was bad enough.
Mrs. Herrington was no doubt aware that Merle Perslow had warned him off more than once as a teenager and that a stipulation of that job offer twelve years ago included keeping his distance from his daughter. That’s what had set off Cody’s temper that day. That and the man’s patronizing air that he was doing the community a favor by hiring the son of Leroy Hawk to keep him off the streets and out of trouble.
He didn’t have long to wait until, from the corner of his eye, he caught a package-laden Mrs. Herrington and Paris exiting the store. Deep in conversation, the older woman didn’t glance in his direction, but Paris clearly spied him, then quickly looked away.
Counting slowly to one hundred to ensure they’d walked down the shop-lined street, he’d no sooner lifted the remaining wreaths into his arms when he saw Paris heading briskly back in his direction.
“Good morning, Cody.” Her voice came somewhat breathlessly when she halted before him.
“Paris.” He nodded an acknowledgment as he placed the wreaths back in the truck bed, his heart beating faster at this unexpected chance to speak with her.
“I’m sorry to bother you, but I got a call earlier this morning about your mother.”
He frowned. “My ma? Is something wrong?”
“I’m hoping not.” She clasped her gloved hands in front of her, her expression troubled. “It has to do with the annual Christmas gala. I’m the committee head this year.”
He was more than familiar with the event, but managed not to grimace. It was a charity dinner and dance that had been a community tradition since long before Cody’s family had moved to Canyon Springs. It was for a good cause, of course. But he’d been mortified more than once when his father insisted he line up with other underprivileged children to receive a token toy or item of winter clothing as society’s elite looked on benevolently, proud as peacocks of their generosity toward the community’s needy.
Needy. It was all he could do to keep his lip from curling at a word reminiscent of a poor Dickensian urchin timidly holding out a bowl for cold porridge. How he despised the image.
He cleared his throat. “You’d mentioned yesterday that my mother is helping. She’s making a few decorations, right?”
“More than a few, I’m afraid.” A tiny crease formed between Paris’s brows. “Some on the committee are concerned that, with your father’s illness demanding so much of her time, she won’t be able to fulfill her obligations.”
“Exactly how many decorations has she agreed to make?” Dad might not always make good on promises, but no one would ever accuse his mother of that. Maybe, though, he should have asked permission before carting off to Dix’s the stash of wreaths he’d found in the shed? He’d thought he was doing her a favor.
Paris slipped her hands into her jacket pockets. “Unfortunately, it’s more than that. She’s overseeing the decorating this year. The props. Christmas trees. Centerpieces. The works.”
He gave a low whistle. “I’m surprised she took that on, but I doubt she’ll be able to do it now. She’s at the hospital almost around the clock and there’s no telling how long Dad will be there. I suggest you look elsewhere for a volunteer.”
“That’s just it. She isn’t a volunteer.” Paris hesitated, as if reluctant to continue. “She’s been contracted for a design she submitted several months ago, and she received payment in advance for her time and materials.”
Cody flinched. He hadn’t expected that. His mother must have needed the money badly. Why hadn’t she told him?
“I can reimburse the committee, Paris. That’s no problem.”
Or it wouldn’t be if things worked out as he and his business partner hoped.
Paris offered a feeble smile. “That’s thoughtful of you, but the gala is three weeks from tonight, and I’ve been told nothing at the staging site has been touched in over a week. There’s always a last-minute scramble, but usually by this time things are coming together. A few committee members are concerned that she intended to have your father build the sets. And now...”
Leroy Hawk volunteered to do something of that nature? No way. Ma must have had another plan.
“If I reimburse the committee, can’t you get someone else to take over?”
A flicker of irritation lit her eyes. “I’ll certainly do my best if it comes to that. I know I should talk to your mother directly, but when I saw you here...”
With Dad’s situation demanding her every waking moment, Ma probably lost track of time. But he could tell this turn of events had unsettled Paris. The charity event was a huge responsibility on those young, slender shoulders.
“Let me talk to her. And don’t worry about it, okay?” He met Paris’s gaze with a firm one intended to reassure. “I imagine she has everything under control, but hasn’t had time to update the committee.”
“Thank you.” She tilted her head, the expression in her eyes conveying her gratitude—and reminiscent of the look she’d given him the day long ago when he’d flown to her aid on the playground. “Your mother has my cell phone number, but I can give it to you, too, so you can get in touch with me.”
He pulled out his phone and punched in the numbers she recited, then gave her his. But as he watched her head off down the street, he knew this exchange would be far sweeter if she wasn’t married to Dalton Herrington.
Back inside Dix’s, Sharon motioned for him to follow her to the rear of the store with his armload of wreaths. “I thought you’d fallen down a hole or something.”
“No, no holes.” Except for the gaping one in his heart.
Inside the