A Boulder Creek Christmas Read Free

because, after all, when it came to Ryan Connolly good sense dictated she would be best served by keeping her money—and her heart—tucked away deep in her pocket.
    Nonetheless, Alani could use help with a few projects around the small, aging house that she’d inherited from her grandmother when Grandma Cora passed away a year ago; it was laden with character and warm memories, yet falling apart at the seams. But she’d have to figure out how to accomplish at least the most pressing projects on her own, because she’d never be able to pay Ryan—or anyone else, for that matter.
    So, what was the point of going to the auction? She’d write a check for a modest donation to help support the community garden—an amount she could afford to part with—and call it a day. Spending the evening tucked away with a paperback and a cup of hot chocolate was the smartest move she could make…affording as much distance as possible between her and Ryan Connolly.

2
    Ryan relaxed as Lani worked a miracle on his hair. He’d never come into Styles and Smiles requesting a trim before, and he wasn’t sure what made him stop by this afternoon. It was as if angels took him by the hand and led him straight to the doorway.
    “How’s that?” Lani asked as she snipped and smoothed a section of hair into place. “Short enough?”
    “Uh huh.” He couldn’t manage much more than the simple utterance with his gaze trained on her, watching hair the color of burnished autumn leaves cascade over her slender shoulders to kiss her waist. He’d always loved her hair…and her large, almond-shaped green eyes flecked with gold at the edges, like sun-dappled gems found along the river’s edge. Her touch was feather-light along his scalp, soothing. He felt the tension ease from his shoulders. “Good. That’s…good.”
    Lani ran her fingers through his hair, coaxing it into place. “And you said you need a shave, as well?”
    “Yes, if you don’t mind.” Ryan was nearly moved to tears by her tender touch. His back ached from the pressure of holding and aiming a fire hose in his attempts to squelch the flames of the brush fire. His throat felt as if someone had rubbed it raw with sandpaper. Weariness crept into his bones, and he wondered how he’d gather the energy to steer the fundraiser tonight. All the while, he reminded himself that Lani’s ministrations were merely business; she showed the same attention to all her clients.
    “Here.” Lani, as if she had sensed his thoughts, handed him a bottle of water, cold from the small fridge beneath a built-in counter that served as a drink station. “Drink that while you wait. It will take me a few minutes to prepare the razor and shaving cream.”
    “Thanks. You always seem to know what I need.” Ryan paused to drain the better half of the bottle in a few long gulps. The cool soothed straight down to his belly. He swiped a hand across his mouth and shook his head. “How do you always know?”
    “I pay attention. And I suppose I’m just blessed with that ability.” She turned away from him and crossed toward the supply room, pausing to nod to Mrs. Wexell and flash a pair of fingers, indicating her daughter should arrive to take her home soon. “Keep a close eye on him, Mrs. Wexell.”
    “I’m keeping an eye on both of you.” She winked. “Two eyes…one for each of you.”
    “It’s more than being attentive.” Ryan called to Lani. He drained the bottle as she disappeared through the doorway.
    Mrs. Wexell watched from her seat, grinning as if she knew a secret not another soul in the world might be privy to. The woman, a widow for nearly a decade now, clearly still had every fiber of her wits about her. “Matthew, chapter five, verses twenty-three and twenty-four,” Mrs. Wexell murmured, “It would do you good to read them, son, and take the words to heart.”
    Before Ryan could make sense of the comment the salon’s entrance door opened, ushering in a burst of cold air and a