His Jingle Bell Princess Page 3

  It surprised Sam that Sophie remembered that incident. She couldn’t have been more than four at the time.

  “They thought I was still on board,” Jasmine said to Sophie.

  “It was a private plane,” Belle said.

  Sam’s initial guess had obviously been right. Jasmine was wealthy. Not that it explained what she was doing in the kitchen or how soon she was leaving. He wanted to be alone right now. He’d planned to put the girls to bed as soon as possible, scrub off the balsam smell in a long, hot shower, and shut himself away in his own misery.

  “They had to close the airport,” Jasmine said. “And your grandma was nice enough to invite me to stay.”

  Stay? The weight on Sam’s chest grew heavier. The very last thing he wanted was an overnight guest in the house. Not tonight, and certainly not through the duration of the blizzard.

  “You’re pretty,” Sophie said.

  Jasmine gave a gracious smile at the compliment. “Thank you. You’re very pretty, too.”

  “Daddy says being pretty’s not important,” Amelia said.

  Sam was embarrassed by Amelia’s bluntness. “That’s not exactly what I said.”

  “Yes, you did,” Sophie said. She tapped her index finger against her temple, an almost comically sage expression coming over her young face. “You said being pretty’s not important. It’s what’s up here that counts.”

  “I was making a point about doing your arithmetic homework.”

  He didn’t want to have this conversation. He wanted to be alone. He needed some sleep. Then tomorrow he’d fight once again to make it through the season. He wished he’d never agreed to that beer with Brock. All he wanted was to be left alone.

  “Have you done your homework?” Belle asked the girls.

  Sam knew it wasn’t a rebuke of his parenting, but it felt like one.

  “We only just got back,” said Sophie.

  “Then this way,” said Belle, hustling the girls toward the living room and the main staircase to their bedroom.

  Sam was suddenly left alone with Jasmine.

  Great. Was he her official host now?

  Neither of them spoke for a moment.

  “It was very generous of Belle to invite me to stay,” Jasmine said.

  “She’s generous to a fault.” The words sounded rude even to Sam, but he didn’t seem to be able to muster up false hospitality.

  “I hope it won’t be for long.”

  Once again, Sam found himself glancing out the window, gauging the snowfall. “They may declare a state of emergency.”

  “Is that bad?”

  He looked back at her in disbelief. “It’s an emergency.”

  “You don’t need to be sarcastic.”

  “How could it be anything but bad?” He didn’t know what was wrong with him. His mouth seemed to be running amuck.

  She didn’t answer. But hurt flitted through her eyes. She took a step backward. “Maybe you could just tell me—” She stopped, obviously at a loss.

  “I’ll show you the guest room.”

  “I don’t want to be any trouble. Belle made it sound like you had plenty of room.”

  “We do.” He made to pass her, but she moved at the same time, and they collided.

  She stumbled and gave a little gasp.

  He automatically reached to steady her, grasping her arm. Their gazes met, and a surge of sensual awareness passed through him.

  He instantly let her go, stepping back.

  “My fault,” she said. A flush came over her face.

  “I was going to lead the way,” he said.

  She stepped to one side. “Please do.”

  “It’s through the living room. Just give me a second.” He rounded the island counter, backtracking to the laundry room to pull a faded t-shirt over his head. He felt a little more in control being fully dressed.

  He led her through the large, high-ceilinged living room. They took the short hallway that passed the dining room to the guest room which was across from Belle’s master suite.

  He opened the door to a white, airy room with rich carpeting, a canopied bed, two cream colored armchairs, and a private bathroom.

  “This is much nicer than I expected,” she said, gazing around as she walked in.

  “You thought we were impoverished?”

  She didn’t react to his challenge, but kept walking toward the big windows. “It’s more than I need.”

  “But not more than you deserve?”

  She turned. “Have I done something to offend you?”

  Though her question was blunt, she delivered it was poise and grace.

  Other than invading his space while he was in a particularly foul mood, truth was, she hadn’t.

  “I’ve had a long day,” he said. He knew she deserved an apology, and he searched for the appropriate words.

  “I understand,” she said. “Please don’t let me keep you from whatever it is you need to do.”

  He knew Belle would never forgive him for abandoning her. “Have you eaten?”

  “Please don’t worry about me. You’ve done enough already.”

  “I’ll take that as a no.”

  She didn’t answer.

  “When did you last eat anything?” He persisted.

  “New York City.”

  That didn’t give him a timeframe, but he guessed it had been a while ago.

  “We have leftover pizza,” he offered.

  She looked intrigued by the simple statement. In fact, she smiled.

  He wished she wouldn’t do that. He liked her smile, and he was trying to stay annoyed with her. He didn’t want anyone new inside his world this week, least of all a pretty woman who had somehow managed to remind him he was a man.

  “I’ve never had that,” she said.

  “You’ve never had pizza?”

  “I’ve never had leftover pizza. Is it from a restaurant?”

  “Luigi’s over on Main Street.”

  “Do you eat it cold?” she asked.

  “Are you messing with me?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, you’re acting like takeout pizza is some exotic dish. Are you a Quaker or something?” As he asked the question, he couldn’t imagine Quakers would get lavender pedicures.

  “I’m a Presbyterian. I’d love to try cold pizza.” She looked like she would.

  For some reason, a bit of tension eased from him. “Then follow me.” He gestured with his arm to usher her back to the kitchen.

  They’d ordered ham and pineapple. It was Amelia’s favorite, and it had been her turn to choose. Sam put a slice on a plate at the breakfast bar for Jasmine then decided on one for himself as well.

  “Beer?” he asked, as she lifted herself onto the high chair.

  “If that’s the correct pairing.”

  He couldn’t tell if she was being deliberately snooty or not. “It’s what I’m drinking.”

  “Then I’ll take it,” she said agreeably.

  He was starting to wonder what to make of her.

  He opened two bottles of lager and set them out with the pizza. He left the rest of the pizza on the counter in case she wanted more.

  He sat down, and she glanced around the breakfast bar.

  “Is it really eaten with your hands?”

  “You are messing with me, aren’t you?”

  “Why would I be messing with you? I’m a guest in your house, and I don’t want to be rude.”

  “As in New York,” he said, “using a knife and fork would be rude.”

  “Okay.” She squared herself up to the plate, sizing it up, looking as if she was going to duel with the slice of pizza rather than eat it.

  She glanced at him.

  He rolled his eyes and lifted his slice, bending it slightly in half. “Like this.”

  “That looks easy.”

  “I’m sure you’ll do fine.”

  She emulated his hold and took a bite of the pizza.

  She swallowed and s
miled. “That is good.” Then she took a sip of the beer.

  “Well?” he asked.

  “It pairs nicely.”

  “I’m so relieved.” He didn’t want to engage in small talk, and he sure didn’t want to get to know her, but he couldn’t stop himself from asking. “Where are you from?”

  *

  Jasmine wasn’t sure how much to reveal about her identity. It was obvious Sam didn’t want her in his home, equally obvious she was annoying him. She didn’t think he was genuinely interested in her answer.

  There were also security considerations. She was completely on her own here in Tucker. She’d never been anywhere without security. And she always had Darren or another aide close by. It was strange to be alone. She had no idea what would happen if people learned she was royalty.

  She decided it was safest to keep her answers vague. “I’m from Vollan.”

  “Where is that? I can’t place your accent.”

  “Vollan is a small country in northern Europe.” She took another bite of the pizza, realizing how hungry she’d become.

  “Were you born there?”

  “I was.”

  “You must be rich or important or both.”

  Jasmine gave a small shrug to dismiss the notion. “My father is quite well known.”

  “So it’s family money?”

  She chose her words carefully. “We have land mostly. It’s been passed down through a lot of generations. What about you?”

  He stretched out one of his hands as if it was part of the answer to her question. “I’m a carpenter.”

  His hand looked strong and capable, a little battered perhaps, but there was something reassuring about its strength.

  “You build things.”

  There was a note of defensiveness in his tone. “I get my hands dirty, if that’s what you’re asking.”

  “It wasn’t.” She took another bite, letting her annoyance dissipate.

  It was a trick she’d learned at a very young age. When a conversation became delicate, slow things down. Never get upset, and never let your emotions show.

  He took a swallow of his beer, plunking the bottle down on the countertop. His tone was sharp. “I’m guessing we’re not the kind of people you’re used to.”

  She waited another beat, taking a breath, lowering her shoulders and relaxing her core. What he said wasn’t true. She interacted with people from all walks of life.

  “Why would you guess that?” she asked him.

  “You look…” He seemed to search for the right words. “Expensive.”

  She couldn’t help but smile at the pained expression on his face. “Did you mean that as an insult?”

  “I meant it as an observation.”

  “Well…” She took a moment to size him up. “You look functional. And I mean that as a compliment.”

  “How magnanimous of you.”

  “You are determined to fight with me, aren’t you?”

  People were never so brazen with her. She should probably have been insulted, but she was intrigued instead.

  “I’ll be honest with you,” Sam said.

  “You may do that.”

  He drew back. “Did you just grant me permission?”

  She realized she had. “Go on.”

  “I want to be left alone tonight. I really don’t want company. I certainly wasn’t expecting a houseguest, and having you here looking down your nose at me with Christmas around the corner is the last thing I need in my life.” His voice rose combatively on the last few words.

  Jasmine struggled to cover her astonishment at his tone.

  “Sam!” Belle’s voice interrupted them from the doorway. “What has gotten into you?”

  Sam came to his feet, regret clear on his face as he spoke to Jasmine. “My apologies.”

  “No, no.” Jasmine waved his words away. She was the one who had invaded his privacy, and it was obviously a big inconvenience. “I’m the one who should apologize for intruding.”

  He drained his beer glass and took his empty plate to the sink.

  “Jasmine,” Belle said, moving closer. “You are welcome in our home for as long as you’d like. Don’t let Sam’s bad mood upset you.”

  Sam stood facing the sink. He was gripping the lip of the counter, tension straining his shoulders against the thin t-shirt.

  Though it was obvious his distress went beyond their conversation, Jasmine regretted her part in upsetting him.

  He turned abruptly.

  “Goodnight,” he said, gaze straight ahead as he marched from the room.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Jasmine said to Belle after Sam had left.

  Belle gave her a comforting squeeze on the shoulder as she took the chair next to her. “It’s not your fault. The holidays are a difficult time for him.”

  “He misses his wife?” Jasmine guessed.

  Nobody had said a word about the girls’ mother. And since they were living in Sam’s mother-in-law’s house, a divorce seemed unlikely. That left a sad possibility.

  “We lost her two years ago,” Belle said.

  “I’m so sorry to hear that.”

  Jasmine would have liked to ask what happened, but she didn’t want to pry. She’d lost her own mother when she was only six, and her heart went out to Sophie and Amelia.

  “I’m not making an excuse for him,” Belle said. “But I am giving you the reason. The closer Christmas comes, the more upset he gets. He’s trying to hide it from the girls, but they can see it happening.”

  “Perhaps I should find somewhere else to stay,” Jasmine said.

  The last thing she wanted to do was to make the family’s life more difficult. It was the middle of the night in Vollan, and there was no phone service in Tucker. But she’d try to get through to the palace first thing in the morning. Perhaps they could wire funds. Then she could move to a hotel and leave Sam and his family in peace.

  “Nonsense,” Belle said. “Life has to go on. I’m coming to the conclusion Sam’s been coddled long enough. It’s time for some tough love.”

  Jasmine wasn’t comfortable getting anywhere near Belle’s intervention into Sam’s life. He was a grown man and he should be able to decide the pace of his own recovery. She couldn’t imagine the pain of losing the love of your life. She knew her own father had never fully recovered from losing Queen Katerina.

  “Grandma?”

  One of the twins appeared in the kitchen. Jasmine couldn’t tell if it was Sophie or Amelia. She’d identified them by their clothes earlier, but this little girl was wearing a set of pale blue pajamas with red piping.

  “You should be asleep, sweetheart,” Belle said. But even as she spoke she held her arms out to her granddaughter.

  The little girl climbed into Belle’s lap.

  “Amelia?” Jasmine guessed.

  “You got it right.” Amelia smiled.

  Belle kissed the top of her head. “Is something wrong?”

  “Can we go to our old house tomorrow? I know Daddy won’t like it, but maybe we don’t have to tell him.”

  Jasmine expected Belle to caution Amelia against keeping secrets from her father. Surprisingly, she didn’t.

  “Why do you want to go to the house?” Belle asked.

  “The Christmas ornaments,” Amelia said. “I asked Daddy if we could get them. But his face went all funny, and he didn’t answer. Sophie wants the ones she made that time, the little elves and the bells.” She took a breath. “And the one with Mommy’s picture on it.”

  Jasmine’s chest contracted at the little girl’s words, squeezing around her heart.

  “I remember them,” Belle said, stroking Amelia’s hair.

  “Sophie’s sad,” said Amelia. “And Daddy’s sad. But it could make Daddy happy. Don’t you think maybe? It could make Daddy happy to remember Mommy. He says he loved Mommy.”

  “He did love your mommy.”

  Amelia tipped her head to look up at Belle. “Can we go get them?”

 
Belle’s gaze met Jasmine’s.

  Jasmine wished she had something wise to say. She didn’t.

  “Let me think about how we might do that,” Belle said.

  Amelia gave a hesitant smile. “I think we can make it a fun Christmas.”

  “I think we can, too,” Belle said.

  Amelia slipped from her lap and padded from the kitchen.

  After a moment, Belle spoke to Jasmine. “It’s complicated.”

  “You don’t have to explain anything to me.”

  Jasmine realized the best thing for her to do was leave as soon as she could in the morning. This family had enough to deal with without her complicating things. She stepped down from the high seat and, as Sam had done, she took her plate and glass to the kitchen sink.

  “You’ll need something to sleep in,” Belle said, coming briskly to her feet. “There’s a new toothbrush in the guest bathroom, plenty of fresh towels, and I put a clean nightgown on the bed. It’s mine. Probably not the most stylish thing in the world, but it should keep you warm.”

  “You’ve been so kind,” Jasmine said.

  “Anybody would do the same thing.” Belle responded. “You get a good night’s sleep, and we’ll see what’s what in the morning. It’s supposed to be the last day of school before the holidays, but I think every child in town is hoping for a snow day.”

  Jasmine knew it wasn’t true that anybody would have done the same thing. Belle seemed like a rare person. It was pitch-dark beyond the kitchen window now, impossible to tell what the weather was doing. But given the earlier reports, it seemed likely the town’s children would get their wish, meaning Jasmine might still be trapped in Tucker tomorrow.

  *

  Sam powered down his random orbit sander and wiped the bedside table top with a clean cloth. He set the power tool aside and pulled off his safety goggles to assess the finish and pattern of the wood.

  “Were you planning to skip our lunch?” Brock’s voice surprised Sam.

  Sam had seriously considered doing just that, but he wasn’t about to admit it. “Just finishing up.”

  “Then my timing is perfect.” Brock paused to check out the finish on the table.

  Brock was a professional firefighter, but he was also a decent carpenter. He and Sam had worked on many backyard projects together, furniture, the deck, a playhouse for the girls in the backyard. But that was before Kara had died, back when Sam could stand to look at his backyard.