The Bachelor’s Christmas Bride (10 page)

“W
hy don't you guys go and I'll stay with the kids?” Shannon offered as dinner ended on Tuesday evening.

The plans for the night had been for them to drive into Northbridge for the Christmas Bazaar being held at the town square. But when Dag, Shannon and Chase had returned home from visiting Liz Rudolph that afternoon, both Tia and Cody seemed to be a little under the weather. After discussing that fact over another communal meal, the two couples decided that the kids shouldn't be taken out into the cold. That prompted Shannon to volunteer babysitting services so everyone else could go anyway.

“To tell you the truth, I think we all actually want to stay in tonight, don't we?” Meg insisted, looking around the rest of the group for support.

Hadley and Chase assured Shannon that they would rather watch TV tonight. Logan said he'd had enough
of the snow for today and wanted nothing but to sit in front of a fire.

“I don't know,” Dag piped up then. “It still sounds good to me. If it still sounds good to you, Shannon, why don't you and I go?”

And much to Shannon's dismay,
that
had more appeal than any of the other options.

So when the rest of the group chimed in with their encouragements, Shannon took up Dag on his counter-offer and the next thing she knew, she was in his truck again, headed for Northbridge and looking forward to seeing what else the small town did for the holiday.

And to once more spending the evening with Dag…

“So…proposed to by a Rumson, now related to Kincaids—maybe you not only
want
a bigger life, maybe you're destined to have one,” Dag said as they turned from the driveway onto the road leading to Northbridge for the second time today. “How does it feel to be related to the Kincaid dynasty?”

Shannon laughed. “It feels exactly the same as it felt
not
being related to anyone in the
Kincaid dynasty
.”

“What did you and Chase decide about contacting the twins after I dropped you off this afternoon?”

“We're trying to locate them,” Shannon said. “We looked them up on the internet—there's a lot about Morgan Kincaid and The Kincaid Corporation, but less on Ian Kincaid or Hutch Kincaid. It looks like Ian works with something called an expansion football team…”

“Morgan Kincaid is bringing a pro-football team to Montana—it's been in all the papers and on the news. You must have heard about that…”

“I told you, I honestly don't pay any attention to
sports,” Shannon said. “It could have been on the front page of the newspaper—”

“It has been—more than once.”

“Even then, if it had to do with sports, I would have just turned to page two.”

Dag laughed in disbelief and glanced at her. “I mean, it may not be hockey…” he said facetiously, “but football is pretty big, too. There's that whole Super Bowl thing and all.”

“Still, I know nothing about sports and don't keep up with anything about them,” Shannon said.

“Well, it's a big deal to get a new NFL franchise—a
huge
deal,” he said, dumbfounded by how lightly she was taking that fact.

But all Shannon could do was shrug and say, “Okay.”

Dag laughed again and shook his head in dismay. Then he went on with what Shannon actually did have an interest in. “But Ian Kincaid's name shows up in connection with the football team?”

“Right, he's listed on the website as the Chief Operating Officer so I guess that means he's on the business end of things. But we couldn't find anything recent on Hutch Kincaid at all. Apparently he played a lot of football himself a while ago, and was a star quarterback, but there's nothing current about him and he doesn't show up working for The Kincaid Corporation anywhere, so we're thinking the only way to reach him will be through Ian.”

“But it sounds like you might be able to reach Ian.”

“I hope so,” Shannon said. “But sometimes the more public people are, the harder it is to get through to them.”

“Like Wes Rumson, who can't even be reached by people he should be close to.”

“Let alone by strangers with a story about long-lost siblings that the twins were probably never told they had,” Shannon said. “There wasn't a way to email Ian Kincaid through the new football team, so we sent one through The Kincaid Corporation—we used a
Contact Us
tab on that website. We'll just have to see if the email gets to him.”

“And if he answers it even if it does.”

“True. I can tell you from my own experience with Chase that this whole thing comes as a shock and it's hard to believe. And I'm nobody—”

“Hey!”

“You know what I mean. I'm a kindergarten teacher, nothing high profile—”

“You were connected to a Rumson,” he reminded.

“But until the public proposal, no one knew my name—in the few pictures of Wes and me at some charity function or another, if I wasn't cut out of the shot when it was printed, I was never included in the caption. It wasn't me who anyone cared to know. But for high-profile people, someone coming out of the woodwork with a weird claim—”

“Yeah, even if you're not high-profile but just in the public eye, sometimes people
do
come out of the woodwork with some crazy claim to get to you,” Dag said as if he'd had experience with that. “And you're right, if it was me, I would probably think it was a prank or scam or something.”

“And from what Liz said, I doubt if the twins were ever told anything about us. So I wouldn't be surprised if it takes more than an email to get through to them.”

“Still, it's a start,” Dag said optimistically.

They'd made it safely into town by then, and as he pulled into a parking spot near the ice skating rink, there didn't seem to be more to say on the situation. Plus there was so much going on in the town square that that was where their attention naturally turned.

“After that blizzard yesterday, I can't believe this is all still going on and so many people showed up,” Shannon observed.

“One of the advantages of a small town—there aren't a lot of streets to clean so the plow can take care of most of them in a day, and no one has to go too far to get around.”

Before they left the heat of the truck's interior, Shannon buttoned the top of her wool coat, tied her knitted scarf around her neck and put on her earmuffs and then her gloves.

Dag fastened a few of his suede coat's buttons and added fleece-lined gloves, but that was as far as he went in bundling up.

Then they got out of the truck.

“According to the schedule in the newspaper this morning,” Dag said, “we have a little while before the ice-sculpting competition—I understand there will be chain saws for that so we don't want to miss it—”

Shannon laughed at his enthusiasm for the chain saws. “No, we definitely wouldn't want to miss that!” she agreed, as if it were of the utmost importance.

Dag took the teasing in stride and merely grinned at her. “So we can either wander through the booths before that and then take the sleigh ride, or we can take the sleigh ride before the contest and walk through the booths after—your choice.”

“Well, since I'm still warm from the truck, let's do the sleigh ride first. Then we can get under some of the
heat lights to watch the chain saw ice massacre and walk through the booths.”

“Good choice,” Dag decreed.

Shannon had put both of her hands into her coat pockets and without warning, Dag hooked his arm through one of her elbows as if he'd done it a million times before.

And that was all it took for her to feel an instant sense that all was right with the world. Especially when he used their entwined arms to tug her close to his side as they headed for the line of sleighs waiting for passengers.

Confused and somewhat in awe of the phenomena, she glanced up at him, wondering exactly what was going on with her when it came to this man.

But there were no answers in the profile of his handsome face above the turned-up collar of his coat. She just felt another wave of gladness to be there with him.

Maybe it's only the spirit of the holiday,
she told herself.

But despite making a valiant attempt to believe that, she still had the sneaking suspicion that it was the man himself.

“We want that one,” Dag announced to the teenagers waiting to drive the sleighs that were different in size, shape and ornateness, but all painted white and decorated festively with red ribbons and wreaths on the backsides.

Dag's pick was a simple, plain-sided, old-fashioned country sleigh with a thick plaid wool blanket waiting in its plush red velvet interior.

Once they were situated side by side behind the driver, Dag tucked the blanket around their laps and the driver gently tapped the reins to put the big roan into mo
tion, setting off the jangle of small golden bells on the harness's girth.

The sleigh ride took them in a big circle around the town square and the connecting grounds of the small private college that was closed for winter break.

Dag explained that two other contests had been held—one for the best decorated evergreen tree in the square or on the campus, and another for the best snow sculpture.

“It's no wonder they're offering sleigh rides to see it all,” Shannon said in astonishment at what the small town had produced.

Businesses, clubs and organizations had sponsored the decoration of the trees and each one was more elaborate than the other. The tree done by the local beauty salon had won first prize with bedazzled ribbons tied around almost every branch, bright lights and hair accessories all turned into sparkling tree ornaments.

Between the trees done up in festive finery there were snow forts, a snow village, snow families, snow spaceships, snow cathedrals and so many other snow-erected marvels that Shannon lost track of them all.

“This town is just its own little oasis, isn't it?” she said when their sleigh ride tour came to an end.

“Ya gotta love Northbridge,” Dag agreed, heading them for the ice-sculpting contest that was getting under way.

Huge blocks of ice had been set up near the gazebo. The contestants went three at a time with a goal of producing the best sculpture in the shortest amount of time.

The expertise in the wielding of the chain saws was something to see all on its own but the little wonderland of ice sculptures that resulted from it was an added
bonus. The sculptures went from simple—a Christmas tree and a snowman—all the way to a complicated castle and even a five-foot-high lumberjack, complete with his dog at his feet.

It was the lumberjack that won and, along with the applause and cheers of the onlookers, the other sculptors did a good-natured chain saw salute to the winner before Shannon and Dag moved on to the booths.

Food, drinks, gifts, ornaments—the bazaar had a different tone than what they'd seen on Main Street on Sunday. Of course there was the hot chocolate and hot cider booth, but there was also a booth that offered Christmas Treats from Around The World—different cookies, desserts and sweets that were traditional to assorted countries and cultures.

There was a booth selling beautiful gingerbread houses for those without the time or inclination to make their own, there was a booth selling hand-carved and painted nativities and another offering all sizes of Moravian stars. There were two stands selling handmade candles, one offering adult-size rocking horses, and several others where hand-knit sweaters and scarves could be had.

All in all, Shannon continued to admire the talents and what seemed like the unlimited energy of the people who lived in Northbridge. But after a few hours, not even the heat lamps were enough to keep away the cold and she was ready to go home.

The problem with that was the thought of saying good-night to Dag—which she wasn't ready to do yet despite all the reasoning she did with herself about why she should be.

So, hoping she wasn't being too transparent, she developed a sudden enthusiasm for the mulled wine being
sold at one stand, bought a bottle and used it as the excuse to invite Dag back to the apartment—for the third night in a row—in order not to have this evening end yet.

And if Dag saw through it?

Shannon couldn't have cared less because he jumped at the idea, looping his arm through hers as he took her back to his truck to drive them home.

 

“Sooo, I'm not engaged and you said last night that that makes me a free agent,” Shannon said forty-five minutes later when she and Dag were sitting on the apartment's sofa, in front of a blazing fire in the fireplace, sipping mulled wine.

“Uh-huh,” Dag said, an amused but confused frown pulling his brows together since she had said that out of the blue.

Shannon was sitting in the middle of the couch, her feet tucked to one side and underneath her so she could look at him. Dag was sitting next to her, angled in her direction, one long arm stretched across the top of the sofa back.

“And you also said last night that you're a free agent, too…” she added.

“Did I?”

She might have been more concerned about that question except that the look of mischief in his expression let her know he was just giving her a hard time.

“You did,” she confirmed. “With some conviction behind it—I believe you said,
Oh, I am! Believe me, I am!
” Although Shannon put even more oomph into his words than he had and made him laugh.

“Like that? Did I really say it like that?”

“You did,” she claimed. “Which is why it has me
wondering—was that
too
much of a protest? Is it not true?”

He laughed. “Oh, it's true. When it comes to women, I am definitely a free agent. And I have been for about two years.”

“Two years? Wow, the last one must have really made you gun-shy.”