“Where’d your brain get to, son?”
Ryan shook himself. “Nothin’. Just trying to remember how long it’s been since I had an actual date.” A lie, but now that he’d said it, he did wonder. He’d had the occasional bedmate for the night on leave, but the last time he’d had more than a physical release had been…damn. Three years?
“If you gotta think that hard about it, it’s been too damned long.”
As that hit too close to the truth, Ryan turned the tables. “What about you, old man? Have you thought about getting out there and dating again?”
Percy looked at him as if he’d just suggested running stark naked down Main Street.
Ryan couldn’t imagine how hard this had to be on him, but Percy needed to be nudged back into living. “It’s been two years.”
The gnarled hand fisted. “I know how long it’s been since the fucking cancer took my Janie.”
“She wouldn’t expect you to stay alone.”
“That woman was the love of my life. I won’t insult her memory by looking for another.”
Open mouth, insert foot. Ryan ran a hand over the hair he’d managed to get cut yesterday and wished he could take that back.
“What’d Lou say about that truck?”
Oh, yeah, he’d definitely lost ground in this battle of wills. He was grateful he didn’t have to lie. “The part’s on backorder. It’s supposed to be in early next week, so unless you expect me to hitchhike to my mama’s, you’re stuck with me for at least a few more days.”
Percy grunted. “Reckon I can put you to work.”
“Reckon you can.”
“I still say you ought to get your ass out there and find a woman.”
“And where exactly do you think I’m gonna pick up a nice girl for just a week or two?” No reason to mention he was blowing through the lion’s share of his accumulated leave to be here.
“I don’t rightly know, but I expect if you pull your head out of your ass, you stand a much better chance of finding one.”
The ring of the doorbell interrupted whatever sarcastic retort Ryan might have made. Just as well. They needed to get the hell off the topic of his love life. “I’ll get it.”
Crossing over to the freshly repainted door, he tugged it open to find his cutie pie waitress from the diner standing on the front porch.
Santa, you’ve got a helluva sense of humor.
Chapter 4
The cheerful, professional spiel poised on Hannah’s tongue evaporated as she came face to face with the soldier from Dinner Belles, who clearly was not homeless. He’d cleaned up, having showered, shaved, and gotten a haircut. And dear God, without that mountain man beard and several layers of smell, he was hot. A gray henley stretched across well-defined muscles and the close-cropped reddish-brown beard highlighted a strong jaw. Her fingers itched to trace it.
Say something.
“Hi!”
One brow arched faintly.
Okay so maybe she sounded a little like Will Farrell from Elf. But what was she supposed to say to the man? She’d treated him like he was homeless. How was she supposed to apologize for that assumption? Should she apologize? Or was this one of those gaffes she should just let go and pray nobody ever brought it up again? This was not a topic that Emily Post or Martha Stewart ever covered.
“Can I help you?” His voice was a low rumble. Added to the unexpected hotness, the timbre of it seemed to reach out and stroke along her spine.
Get a freaking grip!
Needing one in a very literal sense, she clutched the ends of her scarf as if it were somehow an anchor in this extremely awkward social situation. “I’m Hannah Wheeler. I’m sorry to bother you, but I’ve been sent by a secret Santa to decorate your house for the holidays.” She was too bubbly, but she couldn’t seem to stop herself from babbling. “It’s this thing I’ve been doing around town—mostly window displays for local businesses, but someone asked me to stop by here to spread some Christmas cheer and—” Catching the glint of amusement in those serious chestnut eyes, she managed to cut herself off. “You’re not Percy, are you?”
“I am not.” Again with the rumbly tones.
Hannah’s knees wobbled. For heaven’s sake, girl, you act like you’ve never heard a deep voice before. Pull yourself together. Hoping she wasn’t drooling, she checked out what she could see of the dim interior. “Do I have the wrong house?”
“Nope.” He stepped back, opening the door wider and gesturing her inside.
She hesitated in the entryway, noting the scent of fresh paint and wondering what had been updated about the house. The whole place felt neglected and a little worn around the edges. Sad. Which fit with what Miss Betty had told her about its occupant. No wonder she’d been moved to intervene.
Soldier Hottie led her down the hall. She tried not to stare at his butt, she really did. But his cargo pants displayed it so well. The sight of it forcibly reminded her that driving wasn’t the only thing she hadn’t done in more than a year.
You are not breaking that streak right now and not with this guy. Eyes up, cupcake.
She managed to jerk them skyward a second before her guide turned to gesture her into a living room. Spying the old man encamped in an ancient recliner, she forced her feet into motion and fixed a smile firmly in place. “Percy Gannaway?”
“Yes?” He eyed her with all the wariness he might show a feral cat that wandered into his house.
“I’m Hannah Wheeler. I’m an interior designer, and I’ve been sent as a gift to decorate your house for the holidays.”
“Interior designer?” This from Soldier Hottie. “I thought you were a waitress.”
She glanced at him. “I am also a waitress at the moment.”
“That explains the utensil tree.”
“It does, yes.” She couldn’t tell from his inflection whether he actually liked the little tree at Dinner Belles or not.
A frown carved deep lines around Percy’s pinched mouth. “Who sent you?”
Shifting her attention back to him, she dialed up the smile, remembering Miss Betty’s insistence on remaining anonymous. “I can’t tell. It’s a Christmas surprise.”
Confusion and no little amount of suspicion darkened the old man’s face. “You’re not selling anything?”
“No, sir. Just trying to spread some Christmas cheer. I came by this afternoon to find out when would be a convenient time to decorate.”
He wanted to say no. The intention was written clearly on his face. So she pulled out the thing Miss Betty had assured her would change his mind. “I understand your house used to be one of the big showpieces in town come Christmas.”
His expression softened a fraction. “My late wife loved Christmas. People used to come from all over to drive by our place.”
“It was a helluva sight,” Soldier Hottie agreed.
What exactly was his connection to Percy? Miss Betty had said he had no family, so who was this guy? Didn’t matter. She wasn’t here about him. As gently as she could, Hannah smiled. “She sounds like she was a lovely woman. Wouldn’t this be a nice way to bring back a piece of her for the holidays? A tribute to the season she loved so much?”