A Boulder Creek Christmas Read Free Page A

drift of snowflakes as Mrs. Wexell’s daughter arrived to fetch her home. Jill Wexell-Walland paused beside Ryan’s chair and they chatted briefly as she inquired about the cause of the sirens earlier that day. Ryan obliged a brief explanation and, satisfied, Jill bundled her mother into her long wool coat.
    “Verses twenty-three and twenty-four are waiting,” Mrs. Wexell repeated as the door slipped closed behind her and her daughter. Ryan was left alone with holiday music accompanied by Lani’s soft singing that drifted from the supply room.
    She sang like an angel, and Ryan leaned forward in the chair in search of a glimpse of her, until she rounded the corner and caught him peeking.
    “You’re going to fall on your face if you keep that up.” She chuckled, offering the slightest wisp of a smile. “Mrs. Wexell left?”
    “Yes. Jill came for her. She left a check for payment on the counter. It’s just the two of us now.”
    “That could prove dangerous.”
    “On the contrary, I’d never hurt you, Lani.”
    “Hmm…too late for that.”
    “Care to elaborate?”
    “No.” Lani moved like liquid silver as she juggled the shaving bowl in one hand and fetched a towel from the warmer with the other, shutting the warmer door with a swing of her hips. She closed the distance between them and motioned for him to lie back before she placed the towel over his face, wrapping it gently to cover him forehead to base of the neck. The world melted away and all that was left was moist, soothing heat and the scent of Lani…something softly floral with a tinge of citrus.
    “Relax. I’m not going to lop off an ear or nick your cheek. I’ve done this before, you know.”
    “I know. Sorry.” Ryan unclenched his hands and splayed them over his chest. “It’s been a day.”
    “You mentioned it proved a rough one, and I heard the firehouse sirens a while ago, saw you rush out on a truck.”
    “Hard to miss the sirens.” So she’d seen him leave. Ryan wondered if she’d worried over the crew…over him . If so, her voice provided no clue, and he couldn’t see her expression with his eyes shielded.
    “You want to talk about it?”
    “Where to start…” He sighed as the warmth from the towel seeped to his bones, relaxing him further, and images flashed through his mind. “Old man Mulligan thought it would be wise to burn brush he’d gathered—”
    “Not that huge pile from the trees he trimmed—the one that’s been sitting in his side yard?”
    “Yes, that very pile—and all was going as planned until this storm blew in. The wind kicked up and sparks flew. They ignited the Turner’s shed along with two gallons of mower gas left in reserve from the last cut of the season.”
    “Oh, no…”
    “Oh, yes. Then the hay bundled in the Stewart’s field—” Ryan stilled as Lani removed the towel and a single-edge razor glinted beneath the shop lights, mere inches from his jaw. “Wait, are you sure you know how to use that?”
    “As well as you know how to use a fire hose.”
    “OK then…” He relaxed once more. “Enough said. You get the picture….about the brush fire, I mean.”
    “Was anyone hurt?”
    “Thankfully, no.” Ryan held his breath as the razor made several long, smooth strokes over a bristly length of skin. “But it will take a while for the collective insurance companies to sort things out.”
    “That’s sad, this close to Christmas.”
    “Yes, from the look on Mrs. Mulligan’s face, Old Man Mulligan might be waiting for Santa’s arrival from his living room sofa this year.”
    “Oh, no.” Lani laughed, and the sound danced over the glass display shelves like confetti. “Let’s hope not.”
    Ryan touched her wrist, stilling the razor as his gaze connected with hers. “Won’t you come tonight, Lani?”
    “No.” Her gaze faltered, drifting right and away from him. “No. I can’t.”
    “Even for me?” He tucked a finger beneath her chin and drew her back. “Where’s your