Love Finds You in North Pole, Alaska (11 page)

It hadn’t been easy staying away from the shop, especially with the memory of her sweet voice lingering in his head. That, and the flowery scent of her shampoo clinging to his nostrils. If he hadn’t promised Olive that he’d come to church this morning, Bryce might have skipped the service for the very same reasons he’d used to avoid Sam yesterday. And because she made him feel like a boy in the throes of his first crush.

Sam hadn’t done anything to inspire his fluttering heartbeat and sweaty palms. In fact, knowing her, if she realized her behavior was driving him crazy, she’d have done her level best to alter it.

She deserved every good thing life had to offer…a loving husband, doting kids, and a pretty little house with a rose garden out back. Bryce could not offer those things to her. Life—and war—had hardened him, and frankly, he didn’t think he had it in him to change.

But when he walked into the church and saw her up there,
heard
her up there, he felt like he had on that wacky carnival ride—the one that spins you around so fast you stick to one spot as the floor drops out from under you. Her voice, her face, and the adorable curves visible under her pretty red dress…

Bryce had to remind himself to breathe!

He told himself, sitting between the Baker twins—North Pole’s oldest citizens—that the instant the serviced ended, he’d hot-foot it out of the church. Then Pearl said to Blanche, “You didn’t leave the blueberry muffins in the car, did you, because I baked them just for Samantha.”

“Of course I remembered them,” Blanche sniffed. “How could I forget our promise to share the recipe with that sweet girl?”

At the mention of food, Bryce’s traitorous stomach growled.

“It isn’t smart to skip breakfast, dear,” Pearl said, patting his hand.

“She’s right,” Blanche agreed. “It’s the most important meal of the day, you know.”

“No biggie,” said her twin. “You can eat to your heart’s content after the service.”

“Today’s the Sunday tea, don’t you know…”

No, he hadn’t known. Would Sam be there?
Of course she will
…
to sample the Baker twins’ blueberry muffin recipe
. Suddenly the idea of running out of here like a man being chased by a grizzly didn’t seem any smarter than skipping breakfast.

Half an hour later, Bryce was standing near the doors to the gathering room when his aunt sidled up to him.

“Looking for someone in particular?”

Chuckling, Bryce pocketed both hands. “As if you didn’t know.”

“She looks pretty in that little red dress, doesn’t she?”

She’s an absolute doll
, he thought, taking in every inch of her, from the top of her curly-haired head to the toes of her red-shoed feet. “Uh-huh,” he said, watching her serve out muffins and sweet rolls to Charlie Davidson and his wife.

Why in the world wasn’t a woman like her married? She had it all: looks, brains, personality…. No wonder she’d turned Dan Brooks’ head.

An ugly thought ran through his mind, doubling his heartbeat and speeding his pulse so much that he heard the pounding in his ears: Had
Dan
turned
hers
? He sure hoped not.

“You could go over there, y’know,” Olive said, interrupting his thoughts, “and ask her to fix you a plate of those sticky buns.”

Bryce never took his gaze from Sam as he patted his flat stomach. “Trying to watch the ol’ waistline.”

Olive snickered. “Well, she’s in charge of the coffee urn, too….”

“Honey pie!” interrupted a deep Texas drawl.

Bryce watched in amazement as his aunt was swallowed up in the arms of the biggest, broadest cowboy he’d ever seen.
Honey pie
? Hopefully Olive would come up for air soon and introduce him to this bear of a man.

“Duke,” she said, “I’d like you to meet my nephew. Bryce, this is Duke.”

The gray-haired fellow kept one arm around her and held out a beefy hand. “Proud to make your acquaintance, m’boy,” he said, pumping Bryce’s arm. “I’ve heard a lot about you—all of it good, I might add.” He popped a quick kiss to Olive’s cheek. “Told him the good news yet, honey pie?”

Was Olive…was his aunt
blushing
? Bryce tried to think of another time he’d seen her cheeks pink up that way, but he couldn’t.

“I was hoping to make the announcement during supper, sweetums.”

Sweetums
? What in the world was going on here? He’d been home for almost two months, so why hadn’t he heard about
honey pie
and
sweetums
before now? Bryce realized suddenly that Olive and Sam had been spending a lot of time together in the shop. Maybe she’d know something about it. “Coffee, anyone?”

“Don’t mind if I do, son.” Duke dropped a heavy hand on Bryce’s shoulder. “Make mine high test—strong and black. Honey pie?”

Olive shook her head. “No, no, but thanks. Already had my quota for the day.”

“Back in a minute,” Bryce said, and as he ambled toward the snack table, Sam fidgeted with her apron strings. “Two coffees, caffeinated, no cream, no sugar.”

“Who’s the dude in the ten-gallon hat?” Sam asked, smirking.

Bryce cast a quick glance toward where he’d left his aunt. “Some guy named Duke,” he said, “and I take it he and Olive are more than friends.”

“So
that’s
her mysterious cowboy!”

“You knew about him?”

“Sort of. Not really.”

“What’s that mean?”

She met his gaze. “Olive has something to tell you at supper.”

Over the years he’d stared down enough stammering, guilty-faced recruits returning late from leave to recognize a flimsy excuse when he heard one. While he hadn’t condoned the soldiers’ behavior, Bryce had at least understood that most times, it had been rooted in inexperience. What possible reason could
Sam
have for her careful, evasive responses? “Been awhile since Olive cooked a family meal,” he said, “so I have to wonder what’s—”

“So,” boomed the cowboy, “my sweet Olive tells me you’re blind in one eye.” Duke rested a palm on Bryce’s shoulder. “Says you’re a hero, through and through, and by all that’s holy, I agree.” He grabbed Bryce’s hand. “Thank you, son. Thank you for your sacrifice.”

Bryce felt the heat of embarrassment on his face. It hadn’t been the first time he’d heard similar sentiments, and it no doubt wouldn’t be the last. He’d never understood what all the fuss was about, since he hadn’t done anything while in uniform that hundreds of thousands of other soldiers hadn’t already done. The call to duty had been loud and demanding, and answering it had been an honor and a privilege. Bryce didn’t know which was worse—people’s reaction to his eye patch…or their praise.

“What this country needs,” Duke continued, releasing Bryce’s hand, “are more red-blooded Americans like you. So really, son, thank you,” he repeated.

The last thing Bryce wanted was to appear ungrateful or disrespectful. Because on one hand, it felt good hearing that the folks back home appreciated his dedication to duty. On the other, their gratitude awakened guilt borne in the knowledge that if he’d done something different on one particular day in battle, the young solder in his charge might have gone home to his parents. “I was one of the lucky ones,” he confessed, “able to come home, safe and sound.” Staring at his shoes, he added, “Too many others came back in bad shape…if they came home at all.”

When he looked up, Bryce saw Sam watching him through glittering tears. He couldn’t help but be touched—until an unpleasant thought flitted through his head.
Oh, Lord
, he prayed silently,
don’t let
pity
be the reason she likes me
….

He was relieved when Duke changed the subject. “Your beautiful aunt sent me over here to remind you not to be late for supper.” Duke turned to Sam and added, “And she said to tell you that if you know what’s good for you, you’ll get him there on time.” He chucked her chin. “You sing like a nightingale, by the way, young lady.” After sending her a playful wink, he faced Bryce again. “Maybe someday you and I will sit down and talk gerbil launchers and other pucker factors.”

Only if he’d served in the military would Duke know the nicknames for M203 grenade launchers and tight combat situations. Bryce’s mood brightened at the possibility. “Marine?” he asked.

“Ooh-rah,” Duke said, standing at attention, but before Bryce could return his snappy salute, the man had turned and headed for the rear doors, where Olive stood giggling with two of her Ladies Auxiliary friends.

“He’s quite the handsome charmer, isn’t he?” Sam said when Duke was out of earshot.

Bryce chuckled. “Not bad for an old salt.” He pocketed his hands. “Should I be jealous?” The instant the words were out of his mouth Bryce regretted them, because a question like that could have but one meaning: he had feelings for her. “Just kidding, of course,” he said, but even Bryce knew his laugh was way too loud for a joke that small. “Maybe it’s
Olive
who should be jealous.”

“That man,” she said, “is crazy about your aunt. She doesn’t have a thing to worry about!”

Whew
, Bryce thought. Maybe his enormous guffaw wasn’t over the top, after all.

No sooner did he have the thought than Sam tilted her head and batted her eyes. “And neither do you.”

Bryce had no idea how to respond…to her words
or
her behavior. He’d just made a mental list of all the reasons he was all wrong for her. So why had he reacted to her sweet flirtation with hot ears and damp palms?
Maybe
, he told himself,
because you’re falling for her, whether it is good for her or not
.

And it most decidedly was
not.

Like his aunt, Bryce prided himself on being a person who chose to do the right thing, even when it was tough. Admittedly, it wouldn’t be easy, putting a safe distance between himself and Sam. But what choice did he have…if he hoped to do the right thing?

Sam had spent so much time serving others at the Sunday Tea snack table that she hadn’t taken time to eat, herself, so by the time she got home from church, her stomach was growling like a polar bear. She popped a store-bought pizza-for-one into the oven and set the timer. As she clipped the tiny digital timer to her collar—to ensure she wouldn’t forget about the pizza—she acknowledged that it hadn’t been all that difficult to dot the i’s and cross the t’s recently…and prevent another volley of complaints from Bryce.

She headed to her bedroom to change. No sooner had she swapped her red dress for fuzzy camo pants than the phone rang. One glance at the caller ID inspired a happy squeal as she punched the T
ALK
button.

“Billy!” she said. “What a nice surprise!”

“How’re things, little sister?”

It felt good to truthfully say, “Things are great! And how are
you
?”

“My biggest gripe in life is, only a couple weeks’ vacation left before school starts again.”

Sam began her usual phone pace around the coffee table. “Will you coach junior varsity basketball again next year?”

“Absolutely. I’d rather quit teaching altogether than give that up.” He paused. “So you’re really okay out there?”

“Sure! Why wouldn’t I be?”

“No reason…”

But Sam sensed that dozens of reasons and reservations probably flitted in his head, and his doubts made her all the more determined to succeed here in Alaska. “So how’s the family? Mom still pestering you to get married, give her a couple of sticky grandkids?”

Bill groaned good-naturedly. “Does the Easter Bunny hop?”

Why did she get the feeling he was keeping something from her? She’d long ago grown accustomed to her brothers and parents doling out unsolicited advice. After years of “you ought to” and “you shouldn’t have,” Sam learned that any attempt to defend her choices and opinions only invited more so-called guidance. Their insights occasionally roused feelings of resentment, but prayer helped her understand that every word had roots in loving concern and the best intentions for her happiness.

“All right,” she said, “let me have it before you blow a gasket.”

“Uh—”

“Whatever it is you’re dying to say but haven’t yet, just spit it out.”

Another chuckle and then, “How would you feel about having some company?”

The question stopped Sam in her tracks. She’d expected him to rattle off a how-to list for staying warm and safe in her new state. “You want to come to Alaska?”

She’d spoken to her parents a dozen times since arriving in North Pole, and most days, she sent or received e-mail messages from one or all of her brothers. But Sam hadn’t yet told any of them how her job at the hotel had fallen through. Not even Bill, her closest brother and confidant. If he seriously intended to visit, she’d have to fess up….

“Think you can put up with your big oaf of a brother for a couple weeks?”

“Of course! I’d love to see you!”

“Cool. So…think you can wrangle me a discount on a room at that hotel where you work?”

Sam flopped onto the sofa and took a deep breath. Wasn’t it Mark Twain who’d advised not to put off until tomorrow what you can do the day
after
tomorrow? But she’d used up her put-offs. “Billy,” she began, “can you keep a secret?”