Chapter 2
Helping Natalie Winters recover a runaway spool of ribbon should have been the end of their interaction.
Unfortunately, Natalie appeared to view helpful cowboys as volunteers waiting to be assigned additional responsibilities.
By late afternoon, the town square still looked like Christmas had unpacked in the middle of Shooting Star Canyon and lost track of where everything belonged.
Wooden crates sat near the gazebo. Extension cords crossed the grass in careful loops.
Boxes of ornaments, ribbon, and artificial greenery waited beside the church’s outdoor nativity display.
Volunteers moved from storefront to storefront, hanging garland, securing lights, and calling instructions that half the people ignored.
Mark Clemons stood beside the ladder he had been using throughout the day, holding a bundle of red bows in one hand and a coil of lights in the other.
He had been told to take them to the downtown merchant displays.
That sounded straightforward enough until he realized no one had clarified which display needed what.
He scanned the square, looking for his mother. She would know. She always knew where everything belonged, including people who didn’t want to be organized.
Instead, he found Natalie Winters.
She stood outside Winter Wishes, her Christmas gift shop, with a clipboard tucked against her chest and a pencil stuck behind one ear.
A bright green scarf wrapped around her neck, and her dark hair had slipped loose from whatever neat style she had attempted that morning.
She was talking to three people at once while pointing toward her storefront window, where a half-finished display of wrapped boxes, lanterns, wooden reindeer, and fake snow waited to become charming.
Somehow, she looked pleased about all of this.
Mark did not trust that.
He crossed the sidewalk toward her, careful not to trip over a box marked FRAGILE ANGELS. “Where do these go?”
Natalie turned toward him mid-sentence, a smile already in place. “Oh, wonderful. You’re exactly who I needed.”
“That’s unlikely.”
Her smile widened as if he had said something amusing. “Strong arms, tall enough to reach things, and apparently willing to follow instructions. That puts you in high demand.”
“I’m carrying bows because my mother handed them to me.”
“Even better. You’re obedient.”
Mark glanced down at the bows. “Let’s not get carried away.”
Natalie laughed, warm and quick, then reached for the coil of lights. “Those are for Mrs. Dixon’s window display. The bows are for the lampposts between here and the bakery.”
“Then why was I told they were for merchant displays?”
“Because the lampposts are part of the downtown presentation.”
He stared at her.
She stared back, entirely unbothered.
“Downtown presentation? That sounds like it’s more complicated than it needs to be,” he said.
“That sounds like someone doesn’t appreciate visual flow.”
“I appreciate working lights and secure knots.”
“Perfect.” Natalie tapped her clipboard with the pencil. “You can be our structural integrity department.”
“That better not come with a title.”
“It absolutely comes with a title.”
“No.”
“I’ll make you a badge.”
“Definitely not.”
She laughed again and took two bows from his hand. “Fine. No badge. But I do need you to hang those on the lampposts, and they need to be even.”
Mark looked at the nearest lamppost. “I can manage that.”
“Not height. Spirit.”
He blinked. “Spirit?”
“Yes. If they’re too low, they look sad. Too high, they look smug. Christmas bows should look welcoming.”
Mark took a moment to consider whether she was serious. She appeared to be.
“That may be the most unnecessary thing anyone has said to me today,” he told her.
“Then your day has lacked imagination.”
“My day had been going fine.”
Natalie handed him a roll of wire from the table. “Great. Now it has purpose.”
Mark took the wire. “You always talk like this?”
“Clearly? Helpfully? With enthusiasm?”
“I was going to say too much.”
She pressed a hand over her heart, but her eyes sparkled. “That’s harsh, Mr. Clemons.”
“Mark.”
“I know, but Mr. Clemons sounds better when I’m offended.”
He lifted his eyebrows. “You don’t look offended.”
“I’m festive-offended. It’s different.”
Mark should not have smiled. He did anyway, barely, and immediately regretted it when Natalie smirked.
“There it is,” she said. “Proof you are not completely allergic to joy.”
“I’m plenty joyful.”
“Are you?”
“Yes.”
She gave him a quick, assessing look. Not intrusive exactly but sharper than he expected from a woman wearing a scarf with tiny, embroidered snowflakes on it. “I’ll take your word for it.”
“Generous of you.”
She beamed. “I’m known for my kindness.”
“And your modesty?”
“That too.”
Before Mark could respond, a boy no older than ten rushed past them carrying a box of ornaments. The box tipped dangerously, and Mark reached out automatically, catching the corner before half the contents spilled across the sidewalk.
“Slow down,” he told the boy, steadying the box. “You break those, and someone’s mama will hear about it.”
The boy’s eyes widened. “Yes, sir.”
Natalie stepped closer and adjusted the box in the boy’s arms. “Take these to Mrs. Whitley by the gazebo. Slowly this time.”
The boy nodded and walked away with much more careful steps.
Mark watched him go. “He’s going to run again the second he turns the corner.”
“Probably,” Natalie said. “But for ten feet, we made a difference.”
“That your motto?”
“It should be. I could put it on a sign.”
“You own a gift shop. You probably could.”
“I do put too many things on signs,” she admitted. Then she pointed toward the lamppost. “Bow. Welcoming. Not sad. Not smug.”
Mark gave her a long look before carrying the bows to the first lamppost. He could feel her watching him as he climbed the ladder. That was annoying.
He tied the first bow securely beneath the greenery already wrapped around the post. It looked fine. Symmetrical. Not falling down. A perfectly respectable bow.
“How’s that?” he called.
Natalie tilted her head. “A little higher.”
Mark moved it higher.
“Now it looks like it’s trying too hard.”
He made a face and lowered it half an inch.
Natalie walked closer, considering it with the kind of seriousness most people reserved for medical decisions. “Better.”
“Better as in done?”
“Better as in almost welcoming.”
Mark looked down at her from the ladder. “Miss Winters.”
She smiled sweetly. “Yes, Mr. Clemons?”
“This bow has welcomed all it’s going to welcome.”
Her lips pressed together as if she were fighting a laugh. “Fine. That one can stay.”
“Good.”
“But the next one needs more fullness.”
“Bows have fullness now?”
“They always have. You just haven’t been paying attention.”
Mark muttered something under his breath and climbed down.
Natalie handed him the next bow without apology. “You know, for someone who claims not to care about decorations, you’re very precise.”
“I care about doing the job right.” He took the bow from her and moved toward the next lamppost. “Caring about the job means it gets done. Caring about the decoration apparently means discussing its emotional state.”
Natalie followed, clipboard tucked under one arm. “You make that sound unreasonable.”
“It is unreasonable.”
“It’s Christmastime.”
“That doesn’t change the definition of unreasonable.”
“It softens it.”
He glanced at her. “You sure about that?”
“Absolutely.”
She was absurdly cheerful. It was as if she had decided the world needed more kindness and had appointed herself responsible for delivering it in ribbon-wrapped packages. It should irritate him more than it did.
He tied the second bow.
Natalie stepped back to examine it. “That one’s better.”
“Because I made it welcoming?”
“Because you listened.”
“I followed instructions.”
“Same thing.”
“Not even close.”
She looked over at him, smiling again, and the late afternoon light caught the gold flecks in her eyes. “You argue a lot for someone helping.”
“I was drafted.”
“By your mother?”
“Yes.”
“Then take it up with her.”
“I value my life.”
Natalie laughed hard enough that a few people nearby glanced over. Mark climbed down, pretending not to notice the way his chest loosened at the sound.
Across the square, his mother stood beside his father, watching them.
Mark narrowed his eyes.
Natalie followed his gaze. “Your mother?”
“Yes.”
“She has a sweet face.”
“She is not as innocent as she looks.”
“No mother is.”
A laugh surprised him.
Natalie looked pleased. “There. Twice in one afternoon.”
“What?”
“You laughing. I’m going to start a tally.”
“Please don’t.”
She made a note on her clipboard.
Mark stared at her. “Did you actually write that down?”
“No.”
“You did.”
“I wrote ‘lamppost two complete.’”
“Let me see.”
“No.” She even moved the clipboard out of his reach.
“That’s suspicious.”
“That’s private festival coordination business.”
“You wrote down the laugh tally.”
“Maybe.”
He shook his head, but his mouth betrayed him again.
The town square was starting to come together.
Garland followed the storefronts in even swags.
Lights wrapped the gazebo. The nativity display stood nearly finished beside the church lawn.
Winter Wishes looked like the heart of the merchant row, all warm windows and carefully arranged Christmas promise.
Natalie stepped back beside him and looked at the square with a satisfied sigh. “It’s getting there.”
Mark followed her gaze. “It is.”
“You sound surprised.”
“A little.”
“Have some faith, Mark.”
His chest grew tight, and he kept his gaze on the lights instead of looking at her. “Faith doesn’t hang garland.”
“No,” Natalie said, softer now, “but it helps you believe the work matters.”
For a moment, she didn’t seem quite so bright. Or maybe she did but not in the way he’d first assumed. There was something steadier under the cheerfulness. Something quieter.
Then she clapped her hands once and ruined the moment entirely. “All right. Structural integrity department, we have six more lampposts.”
Mark groaned. “You’re really going to use that title.”
“Every chance I get.”
“I regret helping you.”
“No, you don’t.”
He sighed and picked up the next bow. “Tell me where you want it,” he said.
Natalie’s smile returned, bright enough to compete with half the square. “Now you’re getting into the Christmas spirit.”
“Don’t push it.”
She laughed and pointed down the sidewalk. “Third lamppost. Same height. Slightly less grumpy.”
“I make no promises.”
“Good thing I’m optimistic enough for both of us.”
Mark carried the bow to the next lamppost, Natalie walking beside him with her clipboard and entirely too much satisfaction.
Their personalities did not match. Not even close. But by the time the third bow went up and Natalie declared it “almost charming,” Mark had to admit that the afternoon had gotten a lot less boring.