That Holiday Feeling (Virgin River #8)(33)

Ironically he didn’t think Savannah had picked up on the scheme yet. He’d been the subject of so much matchmaking in recent years that he’d seen what Mae was up to the instant he’d realized he wasn’t going to be alone at Holiday Retreat over the holidays. It was no accident that he and Savannah were here at the same time. Mae had wanted some of the seasonal magic to rub off on her heart-weary niece and a man she thought was missing out on romance.

So, why hadn’t he run? He could have apologized for the intrusion and headed back to New York and the safety of his workaholic routine. It wasn’t entirely duty to Mae that had kept him here but—mostly, he had to admit—the sweetly vulnerable Savannah herself. Though she wasn’t complaining, it was obvious that her life hadn’t been easy lately. Still, she’d maintained an air of determination and her sense of humor. She was too unsophisticated to be his type, but there was something about her—a fragility encased in steel—that drew him just the same. It reminded him of a young man who’d fled Tennessee years ago with little more than a dream and the determination to make it come true. And in many ways it reminded him of his mother, who’d had the strength to endure poverty and hardship. Only in recent years—after spending most of his youth condemning her for the choices she had made—had he come to realize just how strong she had been.

“Trace, are you ready yet?” Savannah asked quietly, startling him. “My goodness, you’re not even changed. Is everything okay?”

He met her concerned gaze. “Sorry. I got distracted.”

Savannah came closer and perched on the edge of the desk. She regarded him with sympathy. “You feel her presence in here, don’t you? I feel it most in the kitchen. It’s like she’s watching over my shoulder.” A grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. “Making sure I don’t burn the place down, more than likely.”

“She wouldn’t have left the inn to you if she didn’t trust you to take care of it,” he told her, knowing with everything in him that it was true. Mae had been sentimental, but she had also had a practical streak. Her New England heritage, no doubt. “This place meant everything to her. When Franklin Toys started doing really well, I suggested she retire. She had plenty of money to live comfortably for the rest of her life. Know what she told me?”

“That retirement was for people waiting to die,” Savannah said. “She told me the same thing. She loved having her company, as she referred to the guests who came here year after year. She said they kept her young. What she missed was having family underfoot for the holidays.”

“You and Hannah and I are here this year,” Trace said, unable to keep a note of sorrow from his voice.

“Too late,” Savannah said, a tear sliding down her cheek.

Trace thought of his suspicions about Mae’s reason for bringing them together. Not that he intended to get too carried away trying to see that all of her wish came true, but celebrating this Christmas with her niece was the least he could do for the woman who’d believed in him.

“You said yourself that you think she’s watching over you,” he reminded Savannah. “What makes you think she’s not here right this second, gloating over having gotten us up here to celebrate the holiday and her memory at the same time?”

Savannah’s expression brightened. “You’re absolutely right! Let’s not disappoint her. We’ll make this the most memorable holiday ever. We’ll do everything just the way she used to do it, from the greens in the front hall to the candles on the mantel and in the windows.”

“Perfect,” he said enthusiastically. “Give me a minute to call my office and change, and I’ll meet you and Hannah out front. We’ll find the best tree on the tree farm.”

“It has to be huge,” Savannah warned.

He hesitated, phone receiver in hand. “How huge?”

“Really, really big.” She held her arms wide. “And very, very tall.”

“How were you and Hannah going to get such a huge tree back here by yourselves?”

“I was counting on help.”

“Are you sure you didn’t know I was coming?”

“Nope. Mr. Johnson has a truck. He also has a fondness for Mae’s sugar cookies.”

Trace winced. “The ones on the kitchen floor?”

“Those are the ones.”

“Think he’ll accept any other sort of bribe?” he asked, knowing that he was going to hate the alternative if Mr. Johnson declined to haul that tree.

“Nope. I think this tree is riding in your pristine, shiny SUV, shedding needles all the way,” she said happily.

Trace groaned. “I was afraid of that.”

She patted his hand, sending a jolt of awareness through him.

“I’ll go get a blanket to lay in the back,” she said soothingly. “Now, hurry, or you’ll have Hannah to deal with. Trust me, she’s worse than a nagging splinter when she’s anxious to get someplace. Right now she’s making a family of snow angels on the front lawn, but her enthusiasm for that will wear off shortly.”

“I’ll hurry,” Trace promised, unable to tear his gaze away as she left the room. He sighed, then dialed his office.

Two minutes later, he’d told his stunned secretary to shut the company down until after the new year, changed into warmer clothes and was heading out the front door, only to be greeted by squeals of delight as Hannah upended her mother into a snowbank. Savannah was sputtering and scraping snow out of her mouth. There was a dangerous glint in her eyes as she regarded her traitorous daughter.