Christmas Comes to Dickens Read online

  He motioned for her to take a seat at the reception area table. “I’ll wait while you get organized.”

  “Should I make the receipt out to you or Wil-Bar Toys?”

  “Make it out to Richard Barrett,” he told her. “Or, just Rick, if you’d rather.”

  She gave him another, more subdued, smile. “Shall I come back tomorrow for the balance?”

  He shrugged and met her gaze head-on. “Or...I can bring it to your office.”

  “I don’t actually have an office. At least not yet.”

  She licked her lips, and Rick’s heart stopped and re-started in an uneven rhythm.

  “You must work from somewhere.”

  “At the moment, CK Planners resides on the corner of my very cluttered kitchen table.”

  Her comment drew his honest laugh, an emotion he hadn’t felt since returning to Dickens. “Isn’t that the way all good businesses start out? I know that’s how Wil-Bar got started—in my grandfather’s garage, on a rusty old workbench.”

  She turned full circle in the spacious reception area. “And look at you now. Big factory, employing a good portion of the town, and maker of some of the coolest toys ever.”

  “You like our toys?”

  “You bet. When I was young, I had my own Holiday Princess doll—one of the early editions.”

  “Do you still have it?” he asked, genuinely curious.

  She shook her head, a frown replacing her smile. “No, unfortunately. It was lost in one of my family’s many moves.”

  “Military?” he asked.

  When she didn’t answer, he let the question slide, asking instead, “Maybe we could meet for coffee tomorrow.” At her quizzical expression, he clarified, “So I can give you the rest of the donation.”

  “Yes, of course. What time and where?”

  “How about ten at Morty’s?”

  Cassidy nodded, then added, “Would you mind if Millie comes with me? I’m supposed to spend the day with her and she loves Morty’s.”

  As much as he’d have enjoyed some one-on-one time with a beautiful woman, he couldn’t—in good conscience—interrupt her day with a friend. “Sure, why not. It’s not like it’s a date or anything. It’s just business.”

  Unfortunately.

  Chapter 2

  CASSIDY LET HERSELF into the apartment, anxious to get out of her knee-high leather boots, and grab a bite to eat. No doubt Millie had been asleep an hour or more. Frances, bless her kind-hearted soul, was curled up in the double-wide chair in the living room, one of Millie’s stuffed animals tucked under her head for a pillow.

  Cass gave the older woman’s shoulder a gentle nudge and whispered, “I’m home. Finally. The town hall meeting went on forever. Sorry.”

  Frances gave a dismissive wave of her hand and pushed herself into an upright position. “No bother. Milsie-doodle and I had pizza for supper, and then built a quaint little cottage out of popsicle sticks.”

  “Sounds nice,” Cass remarked, stifling a yawn.

  Frances scrunched up her nose. “There may be some glue residue still stuck to Millie’s fingers. I scrubbed off as much as I could during her bath but, I swear, she finds every dust particle in the house when her hands are at their stickiest.”

  Cass chuckled. “I’ll get it in the morning.” Turning toward the kitchen, she added, “I was going to make myself a sandwich if you’d like to stay for camomile tea.”

  “No, sweetie, I’m going to head home and climb into my own bed. There are two pieces of leftover pizza if you’d rather not bother making something.”

  She watched from her doorway until Frances was safely inside her corner apartment then turned toward the kitchen. Frances’ homemade pizza wasn’t always the best, but at least it would be quick.

  While she waited for the microwave to work its magic, Cass reworked her strategy for filling the last of the twenty-five tables she could fit into the rec center’s gymnasium.

  Half-tables seemed to be the going commitment from everyone. Other than him.

  Richard Barrett. According to the town’s gossip mill, he was the new CEO of Wil-Bar, a high-tech whiz kid from the Big Apple, who’d come home to Dickens to either save or close the toy factory. She wasn’t sure how true the rumors were, but she knew one thing for certain—Rick Barrett was a hunk-and-a-half. His crooked smile, five o’clock shadow, and sky-blue eyes were what most women dreamed about.

  He could have easily let his assistant dismiss her, yet he’d followed her to the elevator, and then come though with a very generous donation. And, they were having coffee in the morning. Her heartbeat did a little skip at the thought.

  The microwaved dinged, pulling Cass from her memories. She poured herself some brewed tea and then carried her pizza and cup to the table. A quick bite, an hour—tops—on organizing her schedule for the next week, and she’d be off to dreamland. Assuming, of course, she could stop thinking about Rick Barrett’s square jaw and fit body.

  RICK GLANCED DOWN AT the screen of his cell, taping the black background to bring up the clock. Ten-fifteen. She was late. Or you’ve been stood up.

  He was about to pay for his cold coffee and leave when the bell chimed above Morty’s door, and Cassidy Kean breezed through, an apologetic smile on her face and a kid attached to her hand.

  Despite growing up in a fantasy world filled with toys, he didn’t really do kids.

  “Sorry we’re late.” Pulling the pint-sized mini-me forward, she announced, “This is my daughter, Millie.” They slid into the opposite side of the booth. “We were on time, but my car wouldn’t start, and I had to get George to give me a boost.”

  Who was George?

  He spared a quick, and hopefully covert, glance at her left hand. No ring but—nowadays—the absence of a wedding band didn’t always mean single.

  Their server arrived and refilled his coffee cup. “Tea or coffee, Cass?” the young woman asked.

  “Tea for me and a chocolate milk for Millie, please. Thank you, Stella.”

  “And two donut holes, please,” Millie added. “The chocolate ones with sprinkles.”

  “You got it, Millie,” Stella responded, giving a thumbs up.

  He waited for Cassidy to unravel her daughter’s scarf and remove her coat, before he asked, “How’d your day go yesterday? Did you get many more takers for your fundraiser?”

  “A few,” she told him. “None nearly as generous as your donation.”

  Before he could comment, Millie asked him, “Did you just move here or something? I’ve never met you before?”

  Rick drew a breath and aimed a smile in the child’s direction. “Actually, I grew up in Dickens but moved away when I went to college.”

  Millie tilted her head and grinned broadly. Her eyes, the same shade of brown as her mother’s, twinkled. “But you came back, right?”

  “For the time being, I suppose.” Turning his attention to Cass, he asked, “How long have you and your daughter lived in Dickens?”

  Millie chimed in quickly, not giving her mother a chance to answer. Holding her hand out at table height, she told him, “Since I was this tall.”

  He nodded, his gaze narrowing on the precocious child.

  As if she could sense his unease, Cassidy said, “We moved here from Chicago when Millie was two-and-a-half.”

  “Just the two of you?” he asked.

  “Nope,” Millie said quickly. “Three. Benny came with us.”

  So, there was someone.

  His gaze shot to Cass, and she nodded. “Of course, we can’t forget Bennie, can we?”

  “Who’s Benny?” he asked.

  “My bestest pet turtle,” Millie explained, as if he should have known from the start.

  He forced a smile. “Of course. I should have guessed as much.”

  They talked briefly about the goal of Cassidy’s fundraising job, and how the money would be spent. Millie added her two-cents occasionally but seemed far more interested in staring out the window than taking part in
the conversation.

  Thankfully.

  After a few minutes of staring, she pointed at something across the street and asked, “Mommy, can we go there before we go home?”

  Both Rick and Cassidy looked out the window to where Millie was pointing.

  “Ah,” Cass said, a soft sigh escaping her pink-tinged lips, “Trim-A-Tree. Nice place, run by a really sweet lady, but not in this week’s budget.” Seeing her daughter’s downcast expression, she added, “We can look through the window if you’d like, but we’re not going inside.”

  “But—” Millie began, stopping short when her mother threw her a look.

  “Peeks but no touches.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” Millie responded.

  A respectful child. He was impressed, not something that came easily to him.

  “So, Millie, is that short for Millicent?” he asked.

  She gave him the most quizzical look, as if contemplating a far more difficult question, then she shook her head. “No, it’s short for Millie.”

  Rick bit back on the laugh bubbling up from inside. “I see. I guess that makes perfect sense.”

  He took out his wallet to pay the check for their drinks, only then remembering the reason they’d met in the first place. Or, at least, the reason he’d given her at the time.

  Truth was, he’d wanted to see her again. He’d just not expected...Millie.

  “Here you go,” he said, sliding a hundred-dollar bill across the table. “Paid in full.”

  Millie eyed the bright green bill, and asked, “What’d you do to get that, Mommy? Did you have to clean his room or something?”

  This time he couldn’t hold back his laughter.

  “No, sweetie,” Cass explained. “Mr. Barrett was kind enough to donate to the decorating committee.”

  Millie lifted the money in her hand and examined the bill closely, then raised her wide-eyed stare in his direction. “Wow. I bet I could buy a lot of toys with this.”

  “Yes,” he agreed. “I suppose you could.”

  Chapter 3

  CASS WRESTLED A FIDGETY Millie back into her coat and threw her gold knit scarf across Millie’s shoulders, using the diversion to sneak a quick glance in Rick Barrett’s direction.

  He slipped into his Navy Peacoat, the tailored fit draping nicely over his broad shoulders. A rush of longing shot through her, not a totally unpleasant feeling, but one she’d not experienced in ages.

  “Thank you for the tea,” she said. “And, of course, the rest of your generous donation.”

  “Yes,” Millie chimed in as well, her words muffled through the scarf she was haphazardly winding around her neck. “Thank you for the milk and donut holes. Even if they didn’t have the ones with the sprinkles.”

  “I’ll be sure to call ahead and double check the next time.”

  Cassidy’s heart did a flip at the possibility of a next time with Rick.

  When they started for the door, he was close behind. Cass turned and smiled. “Thanks again.”

  “I should probably walk you to your car,” he suggested. “Just in case it doesn’t start again.”

  “It’s not necessary,” she told him. Yet, deep down, she hoped he’d insist. “Besides, I promised Millie we’d take a peek inside Trim-A-Tree’s window.”

  “Ah, yes. The peeks but no touches,” he said. A deeper chuckle mellowed his voice.

  Cass grasped Millie’s hand in hers and stepped off the curb, quite pleased when Rick fell in line at her side. She cast him a sideward glance and welcomed his broad grin.

  “How do you like being home again?” she asked.

  “It’s been an adjustment,” he admitted. “I’ve always loved it here—in moderation—but I’m partial to New York.”

  The closer they came to their destination, the quicker Millie’s footsteps until she was dragging Cass along. She glanced back over her shoulder and smiled. “Sometimes you need skates to keep up with this one.”

  “I can see that. She’s definitely fast.” He quickened his pace as well and, within a few strides, they were standing in front of the festively decorated shop.

  “Look, Momma,” Millie squealed. “They’ve got a fairy ornament with brown hair just like mine.” She swiveled around. “And, a Santa riding a reindeer, and—”

  “We get it, Millie,” Cass interrupted. “They’ve got everything you could want to decorate your tree.”

  “Can we go in, please,” Millie asked, playing her best beggar’s card.

  “Not today,” Cass told her firmly. “Perhaps just before Christmas—if my clients pay their bills—we can look at buying one new ornament this year.” She narrowed her gaze and aimed it at her daughter. “But only one.”

  “How long will that be?” Millie asked.

  At her side, Rick stifled a chuckle and Cass shot him a narrowed look, just as she had her daughter.

  “A week. Maybe two,” Cass explained.

  Once Millie had her fill of window shopping, Cass steered them toward her car. “We’ve got to be going now. It was really nice of you to tag along on our non-shopping adventure.”

  “I’m great at not spending money. Sort of.”

  “Thank you for walking us to the car.”

  “No problem.” Nodding toward the sleek black sportscar parked right behind hers, he told her, “This is me, so it wasn’t out of my way at all.”

  “Wow,” Millie exclaimed. “Your car’s really shiny.”

  Both she and Rick smothered an outright laugh. “I guess it is, Millie,” Rick agreed.

  Cass opened the rear door of her far-less-shiny compact. “Get into your booster so I can buckle you in.”

  “Let me do that for you,” he offered, leaning into the car and reaching for the seatbelt.

  “It’s kind of finicky,” she told him. “The belt needs stretching before it will—”

  Her words halted when the seatbelt snapped back, pinching his fingers, and drawing his muttered curse.

  “Momma, Mr. Barrett said a bad word.”

  “I’m so sorry,” he exclaimed. When he turned to offer a second apology, he banged his head on the doorframe.

  “Oh, gosh,” Cass said quickly. “Now it’s me that’s sorry. I should have just done up the belt myself. This is an old car and sometimes—”

  He held up one hand to halt her words, while he rubbed the back of his head with the other. “It’s okay. I should have paid more attention to what I was doing.”

  He backed away from the car so she could attend to Millie’s seatbelt.

  “I guess I’ll see you at the wine and cheese party a week from Wednesday.” She paused, adding, “unless you’re planning to give all the tickets to your employees.”

  “I hadn’t thought about it,” he admitted. “I’ll check my schedule and see if I’m in town that week. I’ve been commuting back and forth at least once a month.”

  With Millie secured in her seat, Cass slid behind the steering wheel. “I guess this is goodbye for now.”

  He nodded. “I guess so.” Leaning over so he could be heard, he added, “Goodbye, Millie. It was nice meeting you.”

  “Thank you for the big money.”

  A wide grin lit his handsome face, sending a shot of electricity skittering across the surface of Cassidy’s skin.

  “You’re welcome, Millie. Have fun with your mom today.”

  He stepped back and, somewhat reluctantly, Cass put the car in gear and drove away.

  “He’s a nice man, Momma,” Millie remarked. “I thought you told Frances there were no nice men anymore.”

  Was there anything her daughter didn’t notice?

  “Well, I guess I was wrong. There’s at least one nice man left in the world.”

  And, for the time being at least, he’s right here in Dickens.

  RICK WAITED UNTIL CASSIDY pulled away from the curb before walking the half block back to Trim-A-Tree. It wasn’t beneath him, he suddenly realized, to try and impress a beautiful woman by making nice with her chi
ld.

  When he opened the door, bells chimed—not loudly, nor intrusive, more of a melodic tinkle. He drew a breath, inhaling the distinct scent of Christmas, a touch of pine, a hint of gingerbread, and something he wasn’t quite prepared for—peppermint. He took a second, deeper, breath and let the varied aromas mix and mingle in his head.

  “Hello there.” A cheerful voice greeted him. Noah looked up, and the elderly woman flashed a smile bright enough to light the half dozen or so Christmas trees filling the shop.

  “Hello,” Rick responded. Glancing around the over-stuffed store, he added, “Nice shop you have here.”

  The woman—clearly going for the Mrs. Claus look—gave a quick nod, the half-rim bifocals she wore sliding down her nose. She peered out over the glasses, her eyes twinkling. “You’re Richard Barrett, aren’t you?”

  “That I am.” He paused, then asked, “Do I know you?”

  “I’m Matilda Cudworth. I was a friend of your mother’s,” the woman said, dusting her hands together. “It’s nice to see you’ve come home. I know it must make your father happy. Family—especially during the holidays—is all that matters.”

  “Yes, I am back. At least for awhile.”

  “What can I help you with today, Richard?”

  “I’ve come for one of the fairy ornaments in the window. The one with the long brown hair and pink dress.”

  “Ah...a good choice for a little girl.”

  How did she know it was for a little girl?

  Mrs. Cudworth went to the window and lifted the ornament from it’s display stand, cradling it in the palm of her hand. Once she’d wrapped the delicate piece in tissue, she said, “That will be twenty-two dollars, please.”

  Rick withdrew his credit card from his wallet. “You do take credit, don’t you?”

  “Why of course. What kind of a business would this be if we didn’t accept credit?”

  “True enough,” Rick agreed, chuckling.

  Taking the package from the woman’s outstretched hand, Rick started toward the door, but stopped to ask, “How’d you know I was buying this for a little girl?”

  The woman gave a sly grin. “I saw you outside the window with Cassidy and Millie. Quite the pair, those two,” she observed. “They almost make staying around Dickens worth your while.”