Page 5 of The Clause in Christmas
“That won’t be necessary.” Cassie snatched the envelope, resisting the urge to shout, Atadinconvenient? Are you kidding? “Thanks,” she mumbled insincerely and spun on her heel.
“Oh, one more thing.”
Cassie turned back, hoping the entire exchange had been one ginormous, ill-humored prank.
A slow, sincere smile spread across Luke’s face, reaching all the way to those dazzling—and downright disconcerting—hazel eyes.
“Welcome to Poppy Creek.”
* * *
As Luke closed the front door behind Cassie, he felt a pang of disappointment. He wasn’t sure why—he’d known the woman all of two seconds—but he didn’t want her to leave. And it wasn’t just because he felt guilty for springing the Christmas Calendar on her. Although hedidfeel terrible about it. It was clear she’d been caught off guard. And Luke couldn’t blame her. It wasn’t easy to uproot your life and move to a strange new town for an entire month. Most people only had two to three weeks of vacation time. Not to mention the toll it would take on a relationship.
For some reason, the thought of Cassie Hayward happily coupled with another guy deepened the crease in Luke’s forehead.
“Pretty girl, don’t you think?” Dolores interrupted his thoughts.
Although she sent an innocent sideways glance in his direction, Luke wasn’t fooled by her casual tone. The wily, though well-meaning, woman had an agenda. But then, the entire town had an agenda when it came to Luke’s love life. Which was ironic considering they were the main reason he didn’t have one.
“Sure, I suppose.” Luke strode to the fireplace and added another log, stoking the fire until it crackled and sparked up the brick chimney.
“You don’t see eyes that green very often, do you? And her lovely long hair… The color reminds me of my gingersnaps.”
“Or chocolate molasses cookies,” Luke added before snapping his mouth shut.
Dolores smirked, and Luke couldn’t believe he let her rope him into having this conversation.
“Yes, you’re right. Definitely molasses cookies.” Dolores pushed her heels against the braided rug, setting the rocking chair in motion.
Luke knelt in front of the hearth, giving Banjo a good scratch behind his ears as he watched the sleek lines of the rocker glide back and forth. He still felt proud of that rocking chair. Besides the farm table in his mother’s dining room, it was his favorite piece of handiwork. In fact, looking at it made him itch to get back to his shop and design something new.
“She’s Edith’s granddaughter?” Dolores asked, interrupting his thoughts again.
“Yeah. Crazy, huh? Until a few months ago, I didn’t even know Edith had a granddaughter.”
Luke’s throat tightened at the memory. Edith Hayward, a feisty five foot two, had given him the news of her stage four cancer diagnosis as nonchalantly as a recipe for fried chicken. She even had her last will and testament typed out on her old Remington typewriter, ready for him to look over. Less than six weeks later she was gone. Which came as a shock to everyone but Luke. Given the clause in her will, he suspected Edith somehow knew she didn’t have much time left.
But that’s how cancer was… sometimes. Other times, it disappeared for a while, long enough to give a person hope. Until it returned, even more aggressive than before. At least, that’s how it had been for Luke’s dad.
“Edith didn’t like to talk about it much,” Dolores told him. “It was a difficult time in her life, you know. When her daughter left, taking her newborn baby with her.”
“What happened?” Luke asked, surprised by how badly he wanted to know.
Dolores stopped rocking and adjusted her glasses, both eyebrows raised. “Why, Luke Ryan Davis, you don’t take me for a gossip, do you?”
Playing along good-naturedly, Luke feigned surprise. “Of course not! I know better than that.”
Dolores sniffed and continued rocking. “That you do. This town has enough busybodies, if you ask me.” She paused and glanced down at Banjo, who was in heaven thanks to Luke’s ear scratches. “For goodness’ sake, he sounds like Arthur’s old Cadillac DeVille.”
Luke chuckled. “Before he replaced the engine.”
Dolores smiled at the fond memory before her brow furrowed. “Now, tell me, why did that poor girl seem so upset when she left?”
Luke’s lips curled in bemusement. Apparently, Dolores’s aversion to gossip didn’t extend to listening.
“There’s a clause in Edith’s will that prevents her from inheriting the house right away.”
“Oh?” Dolores set down her knitting needles and unraveled a few more inches of the burgundy yarn. “I suppose that doesn’t surprise me. Edith never did like to do things the normal way. What’s the clause?”
