Chapter Twenty-Two
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GWYNN GRUMBLED to herself as she wended her way back to the Plane & Knotty kiosk. Of all the Santa doubles, she had to keep crossing paths with the most obtuse one. He had a letter for her, did he? Probably a generic Christmas card. And to his claim of being the legit Santa Claus, she said, “Bah, humbug!”
At least he’d extracted her from an uncomfortable confrontation with Charlie. She lowered her scarf for another sip of cocoa, and a reluctant smile lifted her lips. And he had introduced her to the best drinking chocolate ever.
A moment later, scarf in place, she entered the kiosk. Cash smiled from where he sat on a stool behind the makeshift checkout counter. Carved figurines lined the shelves on a five-tiered storage rack in the front corner, and several furniture pieces were strategically arranged on pallets. Business cards and a candy dish sat atop the counter. Other than Cash, however, the shelter appeared empty.
She returned his smile with a fleeting one of her own. “Gramps isn’t around, is he?”
Cash gave a half-laugh. “You’re safe. He left for his shift at the Santa Shack.”
“Oh, whew. She walked between the furniture, loosening her scarf from her neck as she went. Much better.
“You should go check it out,” Cash added. “The shack has been spiffed up since we were teens, and Gramps’s costume looks pretty convincing.”
Gwynn shuddered. “No, thanks. I’ve had my fill of Santas for the day.”
His eyebrows hiked. “Aren’t we a Scrooge-ette.”
“Sorry.” She gravitated toward a space heater blasting warm air from a back corner. “I had the weirdest encounter just now, and I’m not sure what to make of it.”
“Care to share?”
“Not particularly.” Nursing her cocoa, Gwynn stretched her free hand toward the heat. “Tell me about your morning, instead.”
Cash joined her near the heater but faced the shelter’s open side. “I sold a child’s desk, a side table, and a small dresser. Several people have taken my business card, and Gramps’s figurines have been a favorite among the kids.”
“That’s great.”
“What would be even greater”—he nudged her shoulder—“is if someone would paint amazing landscapes on my pieces.”
She snorted behind her cup.
“Picture it. A snowcapped mountain scene. Ocean waves below a stormy sky. You could go monochrome. Or retro. Modern? Youthful? The sky’s the limit, Gwynn.”
She refused to admit his vision was slowly winning over the creative in her. “You haven’t seen my work to know if I’m any good.”
One corner of his mouth quirked. “And you haven’t been on social media lately or you’d have seen a new follower lurking and liking your posts.”
She grinned. “You’re a stalker now?”
“You’re a worthy cause.” His gaze held hers, warming her faster than the space heater.
Time had chiseled the boyish lines she’d loved so much into the hard planes of a man. Planes she could grow to love again. But am I allowed to, Lord? You know my heart, my capabilities … my in capabilities . Isn’t it safer for me to remain detached considering my heritage and past?
Yet she served a God who redeemed people’s mistakes, creating masterpieces where one once saw junk. He could do that for her … but maybe it hinged on her facing the truth surrounding that night .
Remember , Meister K had said. Did he know about her lost memories?
You comin ’ fer the ranch? Charlie had asked. You gonna dig up the hidden money? What did he know about that night?
Cash smoothed a gloved thumb across her puckered forehead. “Now would be a nice time to blurt out your inner thoughts. I like that habit of yours.”
“A bad habit.”
“Depends on where you’re standing.” He tugged one of her braids. “Though I can see how it might cause trouble working at the art gallery.”
“Something I’ll have to rectify when I return.” If I return.
“Would you believe I forgot my spectacles?” a gravelly voice asked.
Gwynn spun on her heel. Gramps!
“What’s a Santa without his spectacles?” he continued, shuffling around the counter in a lush, maroon Santa suit. A black belt encircled his waist, and a curly white wig sprung from beneath a bouncy Santa hat. He bent low, reached inside the top shelf, straightened again, and slipped on the glasses. Turning, he looked first to Cash and then to Gwynn. “Good?”
She angled her head away and took a slow sip of cocoa to hide her exposed face. At the same time, she wrestled with the instinct to throw her arms around the old man in a hug.
“Your beard’s crooked,” Cash said.
Gramps fiddled with it, and Gwynn sensed his curiosity. “Do I know you?” he asked.
“This is Gwynn Sadler.” Cash put a hand at her back as if lending her courage. “She’s out visiting the Davisons.”
Gramps stilled. “Well, sear me in butter and call me a walleye!”
That brought her gaze to his.
His lips spread into a toothy smile. “I knew you weren’t dead.”
Gwynn lowered the cup, blinking back tears. “You did?”
He framed her cheeks in his white-gloved hands. “Had no reason to believe such a thing, mind you, but I couldn’t shake it, even after all these years. With what happened to your family and all the not-knowing surrounding that night, I reckoned you had a reason to disappear.”
“Keep your voice down, Gramps.” Cash glanced at a group of teenagers walking past. “No one can know who she is.”
“Then why is she back?”
“A misunderstanding brought me out here,” Gwynn said, “and a snowstorm kept me here.”
“The Lord, you say?” Gramps winked, and he looked like the quintessential Santa. “Your secret’s safe with me, girl. Just press into the Lord. He knows what He’s doing.”
“Wish I could be as confident.”
Gramps pulled her in for a hug and kissed her cheek, his synthetic beard prickling her skin. “I’m needed at the Santa Shack, but you swing by the workshop soon, you hear? We have lots to catch up on.” With an exaggerated ho, ho, ho , he ambled from the shelter.
Cash blew out a breath. “Sorry about that.”
Gwynn swiped at her eyes. Gramps recognized her—and he hadn’t reacted in anger. Then she frowned. “Am I that recognizable?” She refitted her scarf over her nose and chin. “But Tessa didn’t make the connection.”
“She wasn’t looking for you. Neither was I.”
“Neither was Gramps.”
Cash grunted. “Yeah, but … it’s Gramps. He’s the most perceptive guy I’ve ever met.”
Press into the Lord. He knows what He’s doing .
Gramps thought God had a hand in bringing—and keeping—her here. While she fully acknowledged God allowed it, what did that say about her attempts to return to Boston? Would she be working against His plan while trying to force her own?
Groaning, she let her head fall back. “You want me to stay, don’t You?”
“Um … yes?” Cash said, a smile in his tone.
“I wasn’t talking to you.” She scrunched her face and heaved a sigh. “Fine. I’ll stay. At least until I regain my memories.”
Cash studied her. “Do I have God to thank for this sudden shift?”
“Blame or thank—it’s a fine line at the moment.” Her heart gave a painful lurch. “Irene. My job. This could be the final blow when I tell her I’m not coming back yet.”
He rocked on his heels with a playful grin. “All the easier to convince you to work with me.”
“Oh, good, you’re here.” Aunt Maude bustled into the shelter, gift bags dangling from her wrist. “My conversation with Ellen morphed into a bit of shopping and lasted so long, I was worried I wouldn’t find you again. Are you ready? Penny Roberts is selling her delicious jams this year, and she’s offering samples. I’m dying to try her cinnamon apple flavor.” She looped her hand through Gwynn’s arm and began to pull her away. “Will we see you at the dance this evening, Mr. Cooper?”
“Yes, ma’am. A phenomenal woman has promised me a dance.” He winked, and Gwynn’s stomach went all squirrelly.
Sticking around did have its upsides.