Holiday by Candlelight Read online

  “Yes. Don’t compromise for me.”

  Normally she’d love hearing that from a guy. But God, he had a good reason for his reluctance... “Want to meet up for coffee tomorrow? Get some more planning done? Does four o’clock sound okay?”

  “Yeah, great.” Face a shade paler than normal, he glanced up at the offending sprig. “Tradition would suggest a kiss.”

  Her pulse leaped. What? He couldn’t seriously mean... His mouth twitched, curiosity, not humor, and she scrambled for a subject change. “Do you even observe Christmas traditions?”

  Oh, religion. Nice, nonawkward conversational choice. Good grief.

  He rubbed the back of his neck. “My dad’s a lapsed Methodist, so we celebrate Christmas with his family. How about you? Is your—” he cleared his throat “—your training a spiritual thing, or just for medical purposes?”

  “Mostly medical. I was raised by two scientists—not a lot of room for theology there. But I do have some theories about cells and energy that you’d probably classify as—” she raised her finger to make air quotes, and he beat her to the phrase.

  “‘Woo-woo,’ yeah, I know.” He reddened, glancing up at the mistletoe again.

  “Not a good idea.”

  “Not good, or not smart?” He hitched a hip on the table a few inches from her. Holy crackers, he smelled fantastic. Clean, a little spicy. Warm. Lickable.

  Entirely good.

  But entirely wrong. “Not smart.”

  “Fair.” A what the hell was I thinking? look crossed his face. “Should we play another game, or call it a night?”

  “I have a morning patrol shift, so I’d better get home and hit the sack.”

  The warmth in his eyes faded. “Patrol. Right.”

  “You take issue with ski patrol? Jesus, my parents would love you.” Her ex-boyfriend would have, too, at least later in their relationship. Bryce hadn’t started out by telling her she should give up her job on the mountain. It had been little things. Can’t you switch your shift, Garnet? There’s a graduate student mixer. And then: You really should be focusing on your lab research instead of goofing around on the mountain.

  Or her personal favorite: Don’t you know how embarrassing it was to explain to my parents that you’re a ski bum?

  Adam’s apple bobbing, Caleb shook his head. “I admire anyone who’s willing to work in emergency services, Garnet. Promise.”

  She nodded. The healer inside her urged her to find a gentle way to ask him about the mental scars from the avalanche, but her gut was insistent that she needed to be careful. With his feelings, and her own. His wariness of her being on ski patrol hit a still-raw nerve. She did not need another man making her question herself or feel like she was less. For the sake of Evolve’s success and partnership with the clinic, she’d work with him to plan a banging party. And then she’d keep her distance. She could change all she wanted, but she still had hella bad taste in guys.

  Chapter Five

  Caleb walked into Peak Beans on Saturday afternoon at four on the dot, hoping the headache that painkillers refused to kill wasn’t showing on his face. Garnet was already at the pickup counter, chatting with the barista and holding two large to-go cups in her mittened hands.

  He sidled up to her. “Hey. If that’s for me, you didn’t have to.”

  “I know. My treat, though.” Going by her wind-nipped cheeks, she hadn’t arrived that long ago. Her hair, pulled back into a braid and mostly covered with a floppy dark green knitted hat, looked pure auburn. But he’d stared at it enough while they were playing pool last night to know strands of strawberry gold were hiding somewhere, just waiting to catch the light. Her brows crinkled. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” The word came out sharper than he’d intended. “Looking forward to firming up plans.”

  She passed him his drink and steered him toward the door. “No way. You’re not feeling well. Here, let’s get outside.”

  He took a deep breath of twilight air. A cold sting pinched his lungs. He took a seat at one of the cafe tables arranged on the edge of the raised wood-planked walkway that edged the pedestrian-dominated town center.

  “Better?” she asked.

  “I’m not nauseated. It’s just a headache.” Came on today after he’d tried to visualize going up the gondola to the Peak Lounge and failing hard. He had a raft of centering and anchoring techniques from his therapist, but they hadn’t worked today. “Hard to keep the memories at bay, sometimes.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say so? If you want, I can help with the headache.” Garnet’s mouth firmed in determination, and regret rolled through Caleb’s stomach. He’d admitted too much. It wasn’t his intention to hide his PTSD, exactly. Impossible to go from being a skier who attacked some of the toughest backcountry conditions to not even bringing his equipment when he moved from Colorado without anyone noticing. But he didn’t make a habit of announcing his fears in the middle of the town square, either.

  “What, you want to treat me?” he said.

  “If you want to give it a try. Let’s skip planning today. We’ll walk over to Evolve, and I’ll see what I can do for your headache. Then we can come back here—the tree lighting’s at five thirty, and pretty much the whole town attends. If you’re interested.”

  “I am.” In getting rid of his headache, and in joining her friends for another evening.

  “Okay, then follow me.” Ten minutes later, she had him stripped out of his winter coat and stationed on his back on a treatment table in a low-lit room. “Here, smell this.”

  She wafted a bottle under his nose and he inhaled. Lavender and something else. Another deep breath, and the pain in his head eased a degree.

  “I’m going to work on your head and face, and then your hands and arms.”

  He nodded, trying to relax as she pressed at a muscle in his shoulder. “That’s not quite my head, Garnet.”

  “Mmm.” She kept pressing the spot.

  Good thing she had music on. The classical cello accompaniment helped him to avoid the spiral of silence that had threatened to suck him under while he’d tried to meditate at home. So he focused on her hands, on her touch. The warmth of her fingers bled through his sweater. And when she laid a second hand on him, a firm pressure on his forearm, he felt his muscles shift. The palm of his hand tingled. She must have hit a point that loosened the fascial tissue in his arm.

  Or he just liked having her hands on him.

  Her warm herbal scent floated over him and his breath hitched. Yeah, there was definitely some truth to his second theory. He glanced at her face. A soft, dreamy smile graced her pretty mouth.

  Her mouth probably tasted as good as the rest of her smelled.

  She released his arm and shoulder and switched to the other side of the table, repeating the pressure in the same places. The same thing happened—when she applied her finger to his forearm, a tangible shift occurred.

  “You’re probably going to tell me it’s like connecting a circuit, aren’t you?” he said.

  Her quiet laugh surprised him.

  “No?”

  “No. It’s not like a current, Caleb. Energy doesn’t move from me to you. The theory is that your energy responds to mine.”

  Oh, he was responding to her, all right. Not his energy, but other parts of him.

  She shifted to up near his head, manipulating points behind his ears.

  He damned near moaned. “That’s just unfair. Trying to woo me with a scalp massage?”

  “Shh. To get anything out of this, you need to relax. Focus on my fingers and let your body do what it needs to do to let go of your tension.”

  God, her touch was perfect, the exact balance between gentle and firm on the muscles of his skull. She slid her fingers behind his neck finding mirrored points. Tense mirrored points. Ouch.

  “Breathe, Caleb.”

  He followed instructions, inhaling a lungful of her soothing perfume. And a hint of raspberries, too. Her lips were pink—did she have on flavored gloss? Seemed like a good idea to test it out—

  “Keep doing whatever you’re doing,” she murmured. “Your muscles are liking it.”

  He groaned inwardly. More thoughts of testing her lips, her skin, for the taste of sweet fruit and he’d slide right into dangerous territory. He switched mental gears to doing times tables. The last thing he wanted was to tent his jeans, for crying out loud.

  She tended to points around his temples and eyes, which he kept closed. Keeping his breath shallow, he tolerated her ministrations for a few more minutes.

  She ended with a finger pressed between his brows. Warmth spread out from the point, and his hands tingled again.

  Weird.

  “There,” she said. “Better. You tensed up again for a bit.”

  “Sorry.”

  “This is about you, not me.” She withdrew her hand and a second later he heard a chair creak. “How’s your headache?”

  “It’s feeling okay.”

  “Good. And the rest of you?”

  There but for the grace of some quick multiplication recitation, he would have been embarrassed as anything, but thankfully, Mrs. Barnes of P.S. 29 had drilled that sucker into him for the entirety of fourth grade. Without having to worry about the state of his groin, he was free to take stock of the rest of his body. Which felt pretty light, actually. “I’m as relaxed as anyone would be after getting to chill on a comfy table for half an hour.”

  “You fought it, though.”

  I fought wanting you, not the treatment. Shrugging, he sat up, a rush of blood going to his head. Whoa. He grip
ped the edge of the table.

  She studied him with knitted brows, and stood. Taking his right hand, she pressed into a point on his arm above his wrist.

  “I’m fine,” he murmured. He covered her hand with his. “Treatment’s over.”

  She stopped pressing, but didn’t take her hand away. Her fingers drifted along the base of his scarred palm. “You seemed dizzy.”

  “I was.”

  “Does that happen to you a lot?”

  “A lot? No.” And usually only when he was dealing with anxiety. This spurt of unsteadiness had nothing to do with his PTSD and everything to do with the fact she’d had her hands on his face. Strangely intimate, that. So was having her hand in such proximity to his. He closed the gap, trapping her fingers with his.

  “But sometimes,” she prodded.

  “Nothing I can’t handle.”

  Her hand tightened around his. “Caleb, you shouldn’t have to ‘handle’ anything, especially not the effects of trauma.”

  He caught her chin with his thumb and forefinger. “Don’t worry about me, Sharky.”

  Her eyes filled with concern. And he’d put that look there. Her lips parted, and a hint of heat warmed the unhappy gray of her gaze.

  Huh. He’d hazard a guess that he put that look there, too. And maybe he could get rid of her displeasure entirely... He leaned forward a fraction, honing in on her plush mouth.

  She jolted back, yanking her hand away and breaking their eye contact. Backing toward the door, she dragged a hand over her face. “My treatment room—I shouldn’t... I mean...”

  He cringed. He couldn’t deny he felt pretty loose right now, and her fingers had eased his headache as well as pain relievers—but that didn’t excuse him being unprofessional in her workspace. Nor was Garnet the right person to be casually involved with. Between their professional ties and their shared friends, kissing her would be a mistake and a half.

  “Let’s head to the tree lighting, then.”

  Winter chill numbed the tip of his nose as they walked the block back to the town square. A few flakes drifted from the black sky. No stars framed the mountain peaks. But the town made up for the lack of stellar scenery. Thick evergreen swags, dotted with white lights and draped at even intervals from one side of the street to the other, reminded Caleb of the winding brick roads in a Bavarian town he’d visited in college. Clusters of silver bells hung at the apex of each swath. A crowd milled around what had been a grassy expanse back in the fall.

  She motioned toward a long table manned by a group of teenagers wearing Sutter Mountain Ski Club coats. “Apple cider?”

  “Sure.” He brushed a fat snowflake from the edge of her hat. It took a lot of effort not to trace his fingers down her jaw. Not that he would have been able to feel her soft skin through his fleece gloves, but something about her made him want to touch her regardless. “Lead the way.”

  Tugging him along by his elbow, in under a minute she had him clutching a hot apple cider and a gingerbread cookie. Her hands were full, too, so she was no longer holding his elbow.

  And feeling even a little disappointed over that is too much. Dial it down. She’s not for you.

  People were clumped in irregular groups around a meters-high spruce tree that looked like it might be cultivated specifically for the purpose of being lit up.

  “There’s the gang over there.” She motioned with her own cookie-holding hand. “Want to join them?”

  “Of course.” Hopefully, with a little more effort he’d be included in the “gang” category.

  Though the prospect of being alone with her again tempted him equally.

  Silently repeating that she wasn’t for him, he took a drink from his cider and followed as she weaved through the crowd. Lots of families out and about—a few he recognized from the clinic and exchanged waves with. As they approached their friends, he narrowed his eyes.

  Zach had an arm around Cadie and held Cadie’s son in the other. Lauren Dawson was safely ensconced in the embrace of her fiancé, Tavish. Even Marisol and Lachlan Reid were all snuggly, talking to a strawberry-blond-haired woman who, by her brown eyes and crooked smile, had to be related to Lachlan. She held the leash of a golden retriever wearing a service vest.

  Crap. This was super date-like. Full-on couple stuff.

  Would that be so bad?

  He jammed the rest of the cookie in his mouth and chewed furiously, trying to prevent himself from answering the question with anything other than a fervent yes.

  It wouldn’t do him any good to entertain cuddling up with Garnet like the others were doing, no matter how much he’d like to loop his arms around her as they watched the show. He wasn’t going to start a relationship with someone if there was no hope of longevity, and given how his neck sweated at the mere thought of strapping on skis, he didn’t see how he could date someone who lived to carve up a slope. Who probably regularly went out on avalanche control as part of ski patrol.

  Dread trickled down his neck, a cold drip of fear.

  “Hey, everyone!” Garnet called, catching his elbow again and ushering him into the group. “T minus five minutes until tree time?”

  “Around that,” Cadie replied as the rest of the gathering called out their greetings. He didn’t have more than a few seconds to smile back and return the hellos before Cadie fixed him with a pointed look. “Garnet said you were trying to secure a different place for the party. How’s that going? The bookings manager says he can only hold the spot at the Peak Lounge until tomorrow.”

  “I thought Garnet and I had agreed that’s what we’d book.” He couldn’t stop himself from frowning, so he hid it behind his cider cup. Arguing with Garnet about the location was one thing. Being a pain in the ass with Cadie, though? Zach was eyeing him funny, too... He couldn’t complicate the few social ties he had over a party.

  Regret shadowed Cadie’s expression, and she looked like she was on the verge of apologizing.

  Well, hadn’t taken his friends long to figure out his weaknesses.

  “It’ll be fun,” he lied.

  Cadie’s smile straddled soft and wary. Her son reached out from Zach’s arms to bat at the fluffy pom-pom on her hat. “I’ll pay the deposit then,” she said.

  He swallowed against his tightening throat. “We’ll make sure the expenses get split evenly between our clinic and yours.”

  “Yes, we’ll—Oh, Ben!” Cadie exclaimed, turning her attention to her toddler. “Watch the tree, sweetie!”

  “Hey,” Garnet said softly. Her hand slid in Caleb’s.

  He let her see his surprise at the PDA.

  She shrugged. “No one’s looking.”

  “But we—”

  “You looked like you needed it,” she interrupted, voice still low. “Is it the skiing that’s the problem? Or the mountain in general?”

  Hell, what was the point in hiding? She had him beyond figured out. “Both. I thought moving here, facing it, would help. But nope.”

  She let out a sympathetic “Oh.” The scent of apples and cinnamon rode her breath. Damn, she’d taste good—

  “So what do you want to do?” she prodded.

  “I’ll help you plan the party.”

  “But how will you go?”

  A gust of wind swirled around them, seeping under the collar of his coat. He squeezed her hand. “I won’t.”

  The corners of her mouth turned down. “Caleb...”

  “Don’t worry about—”

  Color flashed across Garnet’s face as the strings of lights came to life. Her gray eyes caught flecks of blue and green, and a sad frown marred her expression as she peered over the crowd at the high school band, who launched into a rousing carol involving one too many sets of sleigh bells. “Oh... I missed it.”

  “I’m sorry. I distracted you.”

  She palmed his cheek, the fine wool of her glove soft against his skin. “No worries. I’ve seen it before.”

  Yikes, when was the last time he’d felt the urge to close his eyes and lean into someone’s touch?

  He exhaled the impulse. “You, uh, grew up here, right?”

  “Between here and Bozeman. But I’ve worked for the mountain since I was a teenager. Except when—” Closing her eyes, she shook her head. “Well, it doesn’t matter.”