A Little Bit of Holiday Magic Read online

  Bill enjoyed this afternoon’s interlude from reality more than he thought he would. He’d liked being called Daddy, and liked having the kid look up to him. For a few hours, Bill could be the kind of father he wished his dad had been. And no one would be hurt when he went back to being a fun-loving, womanizing bachelor. A win-win for all involved.

  Liam stuck out his tongue, trying to catch a snowflake.

  Grace held up a camera. She wore one of his soft shell jackets over her zip-up fleece. Strands of brown hair stuck out from under the colorful stripped wool beanie, also his. A pair of black gloves kept her hands warm. She looked wintery cute, like a photo from a Hood Hamlet Visitors Center brochure.

  “Got it.” She focused the lens on Bill. “Your turn.”

  He struck a serious pose, if pretending to be an artist sculpting snow could be deemed serious.

  Liam jumped into the picture. Not easy with knee-high snow and so many articles of clothing he looked like the Michelin Man. The poor kid had to be sweating beneath all the layers Grace had made him wear.

  The condensation from her sigh floated away on the air.

  Bill had to laugh. “Photo bomb.”

  “I don’t think he knows what that is.” She lowered her camera. The cold had turned her cheeks rosy. Her eyes were clear and bright. “At least I hope not.”

  “Then the kid’s a natural.” Bill patted Liam’s fleece cap. “Because he’s got the method down.”

  “It’s nice to see him clown around.”

  Grace’s lighthearted tone thrilled Bill. Emptying her pickup and watching the truck be towed away had seemed to release the remaining grip she held on herself after decorating the tree.

  Bad stuff happened.

  Life went on.

  Now she was smiling. Singing Christmas carols. Playing.

  He couldn’t be happier.

  Liam tugged on Bill’s arm. “Frosty needs nose.”

  “Yes, he does.” Bill looked around. “I brought out a carrot.”

  “Abra-dabra.” The kid pulled one arm from behind his back. He clutched the carrot in his mitten-covered hand. “One nose.”

  “Nice trick, little dude.” Bill gave a thumbs-up. “You’ll have to teach me that later.”

  Grace positioned herself to take a picture. “Be careful.”

  Bill rolled his eyes. Mothers could caution, but kids needed to be kids. Get into scraps, jams and fights. Knock over a snowman or two.

  “Liam’s so padded he looks like he’s wearing bubble wrap,” Bill said. “He’ll be fine if he falls.”

  The kid might even bounce.

  “Liam’s not used to snow.” Her mouth tightened. “You’ve worked hard on the snowman. He could fall on top of it.”

  She didn’t seem used to the white stuff, either.

  “Snow is soft. More forgiving than grass. And snowmen have short life expectancies.” Bill held out his arms. “Come on, bud. Frosty needs his nose.”

  Liam flew into them. With so many layers, Bill couldn’t feel the little body underneath. It was like holding on to a stuffed animal.

  Grace snapped more pictures. The kid stuck in the carrot.

  “That’s much better.”

  The click of the camera continued.

  “Good job.” Bill released Liam. “Does Frosty need anything else?”

  The kid studied the snowman like an art dealer appraising a van Gogh. “Frosty good.”

  She took another picture. “Awesome.”

  The darkening sky told Bill more snow was on the way. Best to make the most of the reprieve from the storm. “Time to make snow angels.”

  “Snow angels?” Liam’s scarf muffled the words.

  Grace stepped forward. “Georgia Christmases are more green than white. We’ve never done that before.”

  “Then it’s a good thing you came to Hood Hamlet, because we always have white Christmases.” Bill held Liam’s hand. Bill’s dad never taught him to do anything outdoors. It had been his mom, then Nick and Jake. “I grew up making angels. I’ll show you how.”

  Bill walked to a canvas of fresh snow in front of a semicircle of tall pines. He released Liam’s hand. “Do you know how to do a jumping jack?”

  Liam did five.

  “That’s all you have to do, except you’re not standing up.” Bill lay on the snow with his arms extended. The cold seeped into him, a familiar feeling. “Get down like this, then do a jumping jack.”

  He flapped his arms up and down, scissored his legs in and out, flattening the snow on either side of his body. He carefully rose, then motioned to his creation. “Look what I made.”

  “Angel. Angel.” Liam’s eyes widened. “I want to make one.”

  “You can make as many as you want.” Bill looked at Grace. “Trigger finger ready?”

  She positioned her camera. “The first one is going on video.”

  “Start here, bud.” Bill pointed to a patch of snow. “Lie down.”

  Liam did.

  Bill talked him through the steps.

  The padding of winter clothing hampered the boy’s movements, but he didn’t give up. The grin on his face grew with each sweep of snow. Giggles filled the air.

  Bill clapped, his gloves muting the sound. Playing with Liam and making Grace smile was like a siren’s call, but no matter how seductive, he wasn’t ready for a family long-term. He would end up blowing it just as his dad kept doing. Bill needed to hold on to reality. His reality. “You’re an expert angel-making boy.”

  “Again. Again.”

  “Let me help you up so you can make another.” He held out his arm and pulled Liam to his feet, then glanced at Grace. “I’m going to have a yardful of angel Liams.”

  “He doesn’t—”

  “It’s fine.” Bill aimed a disarming smile in her direction. One he hoped told her she could relax. All was well. And would remain that way today.

  Liam fell on his butt. Instead of standing, he made an angel right there.

  Grace snapped a picture.

  Bill motioned to a fresh patch of snow. “Give me the camera. I want to see you make a snow angel.”

  She just clutched it tighter. “I’m taking pictures so I can make a scrapbook page.”

  “Capturing memories is good, but making them is better.”

  Her nose scrunched. “I like both kinds.”

  “You make the angel. I’ll take the pictures.”

  She gripped the camera. “I don’t—”

  “Mommy angel.” Liam was covered in snow and smiling. “Mommy needs to make an angel.”

  Her mouth quirked.

  Way to go, little dude.

  Grace was trapped.

  About time.

  Bill couldn’t get her up in the tree this morning, but he’d damn well get her down in the snow now.

  Come on, Gracie. Let go. Show me what you’re made of.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  MORE SNOW FELL from the sky, bigger flakes than before. Bill extended his arm toward Grace. “I’ll make sure I get this on video, too.”

  She gave up her camera, then stuck out her tongue.

  He focused the lens on her. “Do that again.”

  She feigned innocence, raising her hands in the air, palms up. “Do what?”

  Grace Wilcox had a devilish side. That intrigued him. A good thing she wasn’t going to be here long or he might do something he would regret. “Make your snow angel.”

  “I’m going to get all wet.”

  Oh, boy. He could have fun with that line. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t with Liam within earshot. Bill would watch out for the kid the way he wished his dad would have cared for him. That was the least he could do until the two Wilcoxes left Hood Hamlet. “
It’s only water. You’ll dry.”

  See? He could be good. Even though he would rather be bad.

  “Last night you were worried about hypothermia,” she said.

  “Today I’m not.” He hit the record button on the video mode. “Show your mom what to do.”

  Liam instructed her with enthusiasm. The two made a set of mother-and-son figures, then another and another. Snow covered them until they looked like yetis from the Himalayas. Happy ones. Smiling ones.

  That pleased Bill.

  He filmed them and took pictures. She would have memories for her book or wall. A few to tuck away in her heart. He would have some, too. Memories were all he could afford from this time with them. No matter how much he was enjoying himself. A day or two of being a family guy was his limit. At least that was how long his dad could last at home.

  “Enough angel making for me.” Grace stood, brushing the snow off front and backside.

  Bill enjoyed the show, then handed her the camera. “I only cut your head off in a few shots.”

  She made a face.

  He raised his hands. “Kidding.”

  Liam made his way toward them.

  “Are you ever serious?” she asked.

  Oh, Bill could be very serious, especially in the horizontal position. “Sometimes when I’m on a call or a mission.”

  “Only sometimes?”

  “Life’s short. It’s meant to be enjoyed. Let’s just say I’m glad you knocked on my door.”

  “Us, too.” Grace walked to the three-feet-tall Santa decoration with a lightbulb inside the molded plastic figure. She brushed off the light cover of snow. “The least I can do is clean up this jolly fellow, who showed us the way to your house.”

  Liam threw snowballs at Frosty.

  Bill joined her on that side of the yard. “What do you mean?”

  “It was so dark and snowy I couldn’t see anything, until I glimpsed Santa glowing like a lighthouse.”

  “I put him out in the yard yesterday.”

  “Lucky timing.”

  Of course someone not from around here would chalk up good fortune to luck, but he knew better. “Not luck. Christmas magic.”

  “Right. Flying reindeers and dancing elves.”

  He recognized the doubt in her eyes. “You mock, but Christmas magic exists in Hood Hamlet. I’ve seen it myself. Things happen on the mountain this time of year—accidents, lost climbers—that should end in tragedy but end happily instead. Even my skeptical best friend, Leanne, now believes.”

  Grace’s forehead creased. “Your best friend is a woman?”

  He nodded. “Since we were nine.”

  “What changed your friend’s mind?”

  “Love.”

  Grace straightened.

  That had gotten her attention. But not surprising. Women wanted to find love.

  “Leanne is getting married on Saturday. Her gift is under the tree,” Bill stated.

  “Falling in love? Getting engaged? Those things changed her mind?”

  He nodded. “Christmas magic is a big deal around here. The town’s second annual Christmas Magic Festival was held on Saturday.”

  “Guess the magic kept the snow away until Sunday so the celebration could go on.”

  “It sure did,” he said. “Maybe Christmas magic brought you to Hood Hamlet last night.”

  “Maybe.” She spoke with a wistful expression on her face. “Or maybe it was an angel.”

  “Christmas is a time for miracles, but I haven’t had much experience with angels except the snow kind,” Bill said. “I’ll stick with magic.”

  “You do that.” She glanced at Liam. “I’m going to stick with my angel the next time I need a Christmas miracle.”

  Bill wouldn’t mind sticking with her.

  Whoa. Where had that come from?

  He wasn’t up for sticking with anyone. Not for more than a night. Maybe two if they had fun together.

  Maybe the temperature had dropped more than he realized. Time to head inside and warm up. He was thinking nonsense right now. “The snow’s picking up. Let’s warm up inside and make ourselves some hot cocoa. We can check if there’s an update on your truck.”

  Her soft smile kicked his gut with the force of an ornery mountain goat. He made himself breathe.

  Something was at work here. Not magic. Physical chemistry.

  That would explain the way he felt. But he couldn’t fool around with Grace no matter how appealing the thought might be.

  “You’re a good guy, Bill Paulson.”

  “Thanks.”

  He’d been good all day, but his bad boy side wanted to come out and play with Grace.

  * * *

  Standing in Bill’s kitchen, Grace adjusted the phone receiver to better hear Thad Humphreys, the owner of the Hood Hamlet Garage and Body Shop. She was having trouble concentrating on what he was saying. Her fingers stung from the ice that had slipped into her gloves while outside playing. Her mind whirled from the fun she’d had with Bill.

  She needed a break, some distance from him.

  The guy was charming and handsome and oh so sweet to her son. She’d found herself wishing Christmas magic could be true, and maybe she’d get something special—maybe someone special—from Santa this year. Silly. A few hours of fun didn’t change anything.

  “Your truck has over one hundred eighty thousand miles on it,” Thad said. “The damage from the collision is pretty significant, plus the engine is shot. The claims adjustor will likely total the vehicle.”

  Air rushed from her lungs. Hands trembling, she clutched the phone receiver. “Total it?”

  “Yeah, I’m sorry. But there’s a way you can still keep the truck if you don’t want to buy a new one.”

  Buy a new one. The words added a hundred pounds of weight to each of her shoulders. Shoulders that hadn’t felt burdened thirty minutes ago.

  “I just wanted to give you a heads-up,” Thad said.

  Grace wanted to hang up, go back to playing outside and trying not to notice how blue Bill’s eyes were when the light hit them right. But she knew that wasn’t possible. There was no going back.

  She swallowed around the snowball-size lump in her throat. “Thanks.”

  “I’m sure this isn’t what you expected to hear.”

  “No.”

  “I’m happy to discuss your options. But think about whether you want to fix the truck or buy a new one.” Sympathy filled Thad’s voice. Who better than a mechanic to understand the sentimental attachment to a vehicle? “The claims adjustor isn’t available until Wednesday. You have a couple of days to decide.”

  Wednesday. Two days from now.

  She tightened her grasp on the phone. “Okay. Thanks. Goodbye.”

  Grace disconnected from the call, placed the phone in its charger, slumped against the refrigerator.

  Where would she stay? What would she do about the truck that had meant the world to Damon?

  She blinked, not wanting to cry.

  Laughter floated into the kitchen from the living room. She’d learned good times didn’t last. Another lesson she’d forgotten in this house until Thad’s phone call. At least Liam sounded happy. That made one of them.

  She leaned against the kitchen counter, her usual source for support.

  Two days to make a decision.

  She’d spent a year debating whether to leave Columbus or not. Months deciding where to go. Weeks selling furniture and books and clothes and baby gear so she could fit all she had into Damon’s truck.

  A truck not worth repairing.

  It’s going to be okay, babe.

  No, it wasn’t.

  Goose bumps covered her arms, ones that had nothing to do with the cold.
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  The truck had been Damon’s most treasured possession. Selling his other things had been bearable because the truck was the only thing that mattered to him. He’d purchased the vehicle his senior year of high school from a local farmer, after doing maintenance on it for years. He loved working on the truck, keeping the vehicle in running order. She’d never had to worry about having mechanical problems. But the old truck’s performance had suffered without Damon’s TLC.

  Along with everything else.

  Grace had no idea what another truck might cost, or if she needed a pickup at all. Except how would she get their stuff to Astoria in a car?

  Damon had trusted her to make decisions, whether he was home or away. But he’d always been an email or Skype conversation away when she needed input. Now every decision she’d made since burying her husband filled her with doubts.

  Her stomach churned.

  Was she doing the right thing?

  Should she get rid of the truck?

  Could she let it go?

  She had no one to turn to for advice. Except Bill, whose greatest concern was what woman he would kiss at midnight on New Year’s Eve. Okay, that wasn’t fair.

  Grace blew out a puff of air. She would figure this out on her own. The way she always did.

  She straightened, tucked her hair behind her ears, then walked into the living room.

  Bill was crawling on his hands and knees. Liam sat on his back, giggling and full of excitement.

  Not even the truck crisis could keep a smile away. “What is going on?”

  “I cowboy. This is my horse.” Liam held on to Bill’s shirt collar. “Giddy-up, horsey.”

  Bill trotted across the floor like an obedient pony. Back and forth he moved, adjusting his speed based on his rider’s commands.

  Grace watched in wonder. Bill was going above and beyond, even for a nice guy. And her son was enjoying it greatly. Liam didn’t remember being in his daddy’s arms or in a baby pack against Damon’s chest. “How did you get roped into being a horse?”

  Looking at her, Bill neighed.