hate to interrupt—” she began.
“But you’re doing it, anyway.” And the jerk behavior continued. Her presence was flustering him so he was repaying the favor. See if he could fluster her a bit. His reaction wasn’t her fault, but he was in survival mode because that weaponized smile of hers had scrambled his thought process. He’d gone too long without female company. That was it; blame this on self-imposed celibacy.
“Lieutenant Gallagher, I—”
“Call me Des. My navy days are behind me.” His days of being catapulted at one hundred and sixty-five miles an hour from the deck of a carrier in a metal casket worth seventy million dollars were over. He grit his teeth and rubbed his knotted thigh muscles. Why did he want her to call him Des? Saying his given name shouldn’t matter because he was trying to get her and that way too appealing smile out of his barn. Wasn’t he?
“Des,” she said, drawing it out.
“Yeah, but it’s generally one short syllable.” But her version worked. Worked a bit too well, as a matter of fact.
“Sorry.” She inhaled as if she was about to launch into a prepared speech.
He opened his mouth to—
“I’m here to talk to you about handcrafting some items for an auction we’re having. Christmas ornaments would be a real hit this time of year. And it’s for a great cause. There’s this fantastic hippotherapy program that needs—”
“Stop right there.” He held up his hand like a cop halting traffic. “Doesn’t matter the cause. I don’t do Christmas. Period.”
“What? No Christmas? But…but… Why?” She blinked owlishly. “What’s not to love about Christmas?”
How about being a child and spending it with a suicidal mother? Always worried she would disappear. He would’ve been left alone because his biological father wanted nothing to do with Des. In his dad’s mind, Des was proof of an indiscretion while attending an out-of-town conference. “I have my reasons.”
She opened her mouth, but Sam tugged on her sleeve. She looked down, and the boy up, his eyes large and his stare intense, both standing still like they were having a telepathic conversation. One that excluded everyone else, even him. She glanced at her watch, sighed and nodded her head.
“To be honest, it took me much longer than I expected to find this place,” she said, gnawing on her bottom lip, calling his attention to it again.
“Maybe that’s the way I like it,” he said, even though he wasn’t sure if she’d been talking to him, her son or herself. He’d been too distracted by that bottom lip.
She set the tin on the workbench next to his tools. “I have to leave, but I warn you, I don’t give up easily, even if you do cloak yourself in that grumpiness like it’s a virtue.”
The boy tugged on her sleeve in another silent plea and she nodded. There was that nonverbal communication again, reminding Des he wasn’t a part of their world. Not that he wanted to be. Nope. Not one little bit.
She took the boy’s hand in hers. “I’ll be in touch,” she said as if it was a threat and headed for the door.
“Wait,” he called and she turned her head to look over her shoulder. He pointed at the tin. “What’s this?”
“Don’t worry, it’s not a bomb,” she said and smiled briefly. “It’s homemade Christmas bark. Even a grinch like you can’t say no to that.”
“What the heck is…?” He glanced up, but she was gone.
Shaking his head, he opened the tin to reveal irregularly shaped bars of white chocolate covered with red and green M&Ms and crushed candy canes. Grabbing one and taking a large bite, he sank back on the stool and thought about the mystery that was Natalie Pierce. What the heck had just happened? Her soft, lilting voice, coupled with that appealing smile, had taunted him and he wanted to know more about her. Her speech was devoid of the flatter, more nasal vowel tones he’d grown accustomed to since moving here. But neither could he peg her as having a Southern drawl. And the kid hadn’t spoken at all, but he’d smiled and made eye contact. Maybe the boy—Sam—was shy. Des shook his head. None of this was his problem, so why was he wasting time on it?
He glanced at the pieces of colorful glass sitting idle on the bench and his fingers itched to create something. He popped the half-eaten piece of candy into his mouth, brushed his palms together and picked up the pliers.
The next morning Des stood and thrust his shoulders back to work out the kinks from sitting hunched over the workbench. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d pulled an all-nighter, but he wasn’t about to leave and have his muse desert him again. He scratched the scruff on his jaw with his fingertips and glanced at the now-empty tin. Huh. As he’d worked last night, he’d munched on her delicious candy. This stained glass window was of the lake during winter when many of the trees were bare. Up close, the lake and trees were individual pieces, but when standing back, those pieces became shades and ripples of the lake water.
A car door slammed and he scowled as his heart kicked up at the thought that the visitor might be Natalie. Uh-oh. Was she back? Who else could it be? Natalie Pierce had been his only visitor in recent memory. He didn’t know whether to be glad or annoyed. He started to rise but his leg and his inner voice protested. Down, Gallagher. You’re not an addict waiting for your dealer.
It was indeed Natalie Pierce and she was holding her son’s hand again. In the other, she carried a plate wrapped in aluminum foil. What did she bring today?
“I told you I’d be back.” She smiled, the crooked tooth peeking out.
He quirked an eyebrow. “So I should take your threats seriously?”
“Maybe you should.” She laughed.
Heat coursed through his veins at the sound. “Are you in the habit of threatening all the men in your life?”
“Is this your way of asking if I’m married?” she asked with a significant lift of her eyebrows.
Yeah, he was about as subtle as a sidewinder missile. He grunted instead of replying.
“I assure you that Sam is the only man in my life.” She showed him her crooked smile. “One thing you need to know about me, Lieutenant. I follow through on my promises.”
“Des.” He’d enjoyed hearing his name yesterday in that musical voice. Liked it a little too much but he’d worry about that later.
“Des,” she repeated and set the plate on a clean corner at the end of the workbench. “I hope you like gingerbread men. They’re quintessential Christmas, don’t you think?”
He grunted, trying not to give her any encouragement, but his stomach rumbled, reminding him he hadn’t had any breakfast yet.
“I used my grandmother’s recipe and her forged tin cookie cutter.” She let go of the boy’s hand and began removing the foil. “They’re fresh, but I’ll let you in on a little secret. Even after a few days, you can warm them in the microwave and they will have that fresh-from-the-oven taste. Sam likes them best that way. Don’t you, Sam?”
She glanced down at the empty space next to her. “Sam?” Her voice rose. “Sam?”
She uttered something under her breath and raced out of the barn. He’d been so fascinated by her mouth as she spoke, he hadn’t noticed the boy’s disappearing act. But then the kid couldn’t have gotten far, and there wasn’t anything nearby that could hurt him. Des grabbed a cookie and followed her as quickly as his bum leg allowed.
Natalie’s