Page 3 of The Clause in Christmas
“Thanks. I’ll keep that in mind.” Eager to avoid more chitchat, Cassie made a beeline for the refreshments. An exquisite foyer table, with the most intricate engravings Cassie had ever seen, offered a welcoming display of gingersnap cookies, mismatched china teacups, and a silver coffee urn.
Cassie unscrewed the cap of her thermos and filled it halfway with the lukewarm liquid, already passing judgment on its lackluster aroma.
Her mother always said you could tell a lot about a man from his favorite whiskey. But Cassie preferred to judge a man on a different beverage of choice.
And if this coffee tasted half as bad as it smelled, Cassie wasn’t impressed with Luke Davis.
Not one bit.
* * *
Luke Davis nodded as Frida Connelly described—in excruciating detail—the latest quilt she wanted added to her last will and testament. It didn’t matter how many times Luke told the elderly woman she didn’t need to update her will each time she finished another quilt. Or bring him photographs. She could email him. Or call. Or, better yet, they could update her will once a year, as he’d suggested a hundred times before.
Still, while it drove him crazy, it also made him feel closer to his dad, who held the position of the town’s lawyer before Luke. He warmly recalled countless stories his father shared over family dinners of pot roast and fingerling potatoes. For as long as Luke could remember, Mrs. Connelly insisted her will be as current as possible, even calling his father as often as six times in one day the occasion her yellow Lab, Goldie, had a litter of six pups, each left to a different grandchild.
Luke supposed his father’s anecdotes could be considered a breach in client confidentiality, but things like that didn’t matter much in a town like Poppy Creek where everyone knew what you had for breakfast before the eggs were fried.
“Can we add… Oh, what do you call those things?” Mrs. Connelly scrunched up her face, doubling the number of creases in her wrinkled brow. “A clause? Yes, that’s it. Can we add a clause stipulating Francine only gets the quilt on the condition she hangs it in her dining room as a decoration? It really is too pretty for everyday use.”
Luke’s lips twitched, and he cleared his throat, suppressing a chuckle. “Of course.” He jotted the note down on a yellow legal pad. “Anything else?”
“That’ll do.” Easing herself from the leather club chair, Frida narrowed her eyes with a sudden thought. “Actually, would you tell Dolores to keep her nosy opinions to herself? I don’t need her and that obese tabby cat judging me every time I pop in here. You know, she had the nerve to tell me I was wearing a hole in your welcome mat?”
Luke smothered another laugh. “I’ll have a word with her.”
Although it would most likely be to thank her. Over the last year, since her husband Arthur’s death, Dolores Whittaker had become an unofficial greeter in Luke’s office. At first, he thought she simply didn’t want to be alone in her large, rambling farmhouse. She kept showing up with one excuse after the next. Sometimes bringing him cookies or knitting him a sweater. Until Luke made her a rocking chair and set it by the fireplace, inviting her to hang out whenever she liked. But unlike Frida, Dolores and her tabby, Banjo, didn’t have a penchant for trifling and tiresome addendums.
Luke led Frida back into the reception area and nearly stumbled over the braided area rug after catching sight of a stunning brunette standing near the refreshment table.
Their eyes locked, and a guilty blush swept over her cheeks. It took Luke a moment to realize he’d just caught her spitting coffee into her thermos.
“Hi,” he said lamely, immediately wanting to kick himself.Hi?Was that the best he could do?Get it together, Luke.
He cleared his throat. “Hope you haven’t been waiting long.”
That was better. But had his voice raised an octave? He heard Frida snicker.
“Well, I’ll scurry on home and let you get to your otherclient.” She wiggled her eyebrows and exchanged a grin with Dolores.
Luke tugged on his collar, suddenly feeling too warm in his thick sweater.Oh, no…the sweater.Until that moment, he’d forgotten he’d worn the sweater Dolores made him. The one with Frosty the Snowman appliquéd on the front. He suppressed a groan. “Bye, Frida. See you soon.”
Heart hammering in his chest, Luke forced himself to meet the stranger’s eyes. Her mesmerizing, almond-shaped green eyes. The exact color of the holly wreath on his front door. “What can I do for you?”
Stepping forward, she held out a white envelope. “I’m Cassie Hayward. You contacted me about my grandmother’s will.”
Luke’s heart stopped.Thiswas Edith Hayward’s granddaughter?
Oh, great.What he was about to do would be a whole lot harder than he’d thought.
Chapter 2
Cassie pressed the back of her hand to her flushed neck, wondering when the reception area had become a sauna.
But then, that was a silly question.
She knew exactly when.
Her cheeks had decided to double as a furnace the moment Luke Davis stepped into the room. Well, more likestumbledinto the room. Why on earth did it have to be the exact millisecond she’d spit the horrid-tasting coffee back into her thermos? She silently cursed her refined taste buds. Not that it mattered. She’d sworn off dating until the end of eternity. Plus another five years.
