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Steve drew near to the village. Red velvet ropes helped form the line to Santa’s throne.
“There,” Lincoln said softly, pointing.
Melody and Todd were standing near the end of the line, looking as excited as everyone else. Hope, holding a gift bag, lingered outside the ropes, nervously glancing over her right shoulder and back at her kids, alert for sightings of the reporters, no doubt. Perfect. Steve had time to talk to her without the children being within earshot.
“Stay here,” he said to Lincoln and, wiping perspiration from his forehead, proceeded toward Hope with caution. He slipped up on her left. “Hey. Having fun?”
She startled, hand raised as if ready to fend off an attack. She lowered her arm. “You.” She said it accusatorily, venom in her tone.
“Yep, me.” Steve splayed his hands. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”
Lincoln said, “Yes, he did. He told me to be quiet.”
Steve threw a peeved look at his brother. So much for him following orders.
“You,” Hope repeated, cheeks flushed, eyes wary. “You . . . You’re the reason reporters are pursuing me and my kids. You gave them the story. My story. You told them I lived in my car.”
“No, I didn’t. I’m not sure how—”
“It had to be you. Brie wouldn’t have done that.”
Steve didn’t think Brie had. She’d been extremely contrite about scaring off Hope. He said, “I didn’t. I swear.” He crossed his heart and elbowed his brother. “Tell her, Lincoln. I didn’t contact any reporters. I’ve been with you.”
“Steve’s been with me. He bought me a new lure.” Lincoln hoisted the bag from Good Sports. He had a huge collection of lures—over two hundred by now—but Steve could never say no to buying him one more. “Want to see? We got a green gummy one. It’s really cool.” Lincoln pulled it from the bag and shook it in Hope’s face.
She recoiled.
“Do you believe me now?” Steve asked, surprised by how much he needed Hope to say she did. He wanted her approval. He wanted her to trust him.
She sighed. “Then who sent those reporters?”
Steve wagered a guess. Dave. He probably thought the newshounds would embarrass Hope into accepting the prize or, hearing that they’d chased her, shame Steve into being more forceful. Either way, it stunk, and Steve wasn’t going to let him get away it. He wasn’t sure what he’d do. Quitting wasn’t an option. But he had to do something.
Steve said, “I think you’re safe for now. I saw three teams exit the bazaar.”
Hope heaved an exhausted sigh, and Steve’s heart wrenched. She looked so vulnerable instead of her proud fierce self, and it was his fault.
“Hey”—he nodded to the bag she was holding—“I see you’ve done some shopping.”
Hope glanced at the bag and back at him. “Melody wanted a new Christmas stocking.”
Lincoln said, “Santa leaves presents in stockings.”
“Sometimes he does,” Hope replied.
“Every year.” Lincoln nodded as if his truth were the only truth.
Hope smiled warmly at him. “Yes,” she said. “I suppose for you, Lincoln, he does.”
Steve sighed. His mother was right. Hope had a kind word for everyone. Everyone but him. “Listen, Hope, about pressuring you earlier, I’ve gotta admit I was happy when you said yes, but I understand your concern about finances, and I promise we can come up with the extra bucks you’ll need—”
“Stop, Steve.” Hope held up a hand. “Brie told me how the station would find more money for me because the stakes would be higher if you told my story, but that’s exactly why I told her no.”
“Wait. Hold on.” Steve ground his teeth together. He hated being the last to learn something. “What story?”
“KPRL wants to make me the poster child for women that struggle.”
“No.” Steve moaned. “No, that’s not true.”
“She said you want to call out my ex-husband for being a louse.”
“No. She’s wrong. I never said we’d do a story. She must have come up with that idea on her own. That’s not—” He swiped his hair with one hand. Dang it, Brie. What the heck did you do? No wonder she’d hightailed it back to the bed-and-breakfast after telling Steve that Hope made an about-face. She knew she’d blown it.
“I’m sorry, Steve, but no matter what, I will not allow KPRL to flaunt my family in front of TV cameras for ratings. As for my ex, he’s . . . He’s off limits.” Hope pressed her lips together. “Look, we didn’t work out, but that’s no reason to drag him through the mud. Plus that would only make my children suffer. They adore him, or at least the memory of him. And, for your information, I am not a poster child for anything. Women who find themselves in my predicament, struggling to make ends meet, choosing insurance over housing, food over clothing, do what we can to survive. Life isn’t fair, but we muscle on. Got it?”
“I get it. I do. I never . . . ” Steve paused. He really did get it. He didn’t want to undermine Hope. If anything, he’d want to shine a spotlight on her courage.
“Brie asked if I had a dream, and I do,” Hope said. “A big dream. But going to Disneyland is not going to make that dream come true for me or my kids. Hard work will. Saving for the future will. Not living in a fantasy world believing someone will come along and rescue me. Do you understand?”
Steve wanted to reached out. He didn’t. He held back. She looked so determined yet fragile, and he knew—he sensed—that if he made a move to comfort her, she’d bolt. “Your kids have a good fifteen minutes in that long line. How about a cup of cocoa? I’d like to hear about your dream.”
“I want cocoa,” Lincoln said.
Hope looked at Lincoln and back at Steve. “Sure. I could use a cup of cocoa.”
“With extra whipped cream,” Lincoln said. “And a peppermint stick.”
“Wait with Hope, Linc,” he said, and sauntered to the cocoa stand. He paid for the beverages and returned, handing one to Hope and another to his brother. “So what is your dream, Hope?”
She took a sip of cocoa, her nose twitching as if assessing the drink by its aroma, and tilted her head, her gaze once again wary. “My dream.”
“Yes.” Under her scrutiny, Steve felt an ache in his chest. An ache to know everything about her. “I really want to hear.”
“I’ll tell you my dream,” Lincoln cut in. “I want to own a radio station.”
“Yes, I know,” Steve said, “and you want me to be the voice for it.”
“You’re the Voice,” Lincoln grinned. “Mom and Dad are so proud.”
Hope bit back a smile and took another sip of cocoa. A film of whipped cream stuck to her upper lip. She licked it off. Steve had the sudden urge to kiss her, but tamped down the impulse.
“Mr. Q is the voice of KQHV,” Lincoln went on.
“I know Mr. Q,” Hope said. “He was my science teacher.”
“Mine, too,” Steve chimed.
“He’s really smart,” Lincoln continued, “but he’s retiring.”
“That’s too bad,” Hope said.
“Enough about me or my brother,” Steve cut in. “Lincoln, suck on your peppermint stick for a while, okay, bro?”
Lincoln took him literally and slurped the stick out of the cocoa.
“So, Hope,” Steve began cautiously, “what is your dream? To run for president?”
Hope coughed out a laugh. “You’ve got to be kidding me. You’re taking that tactic? Trying to charm me?”
“Is it working?”
“Ha! President? Not on a bet. No, Steve, I do not have impossible dreams. Besides, who would ever want to be president?”
“I sure wouldn’t,” Steve replied, and laughed.
“Me, either.” Lincoln mimicked Steve’s laugh, though Steve was certain his brother didn’t have a clue what he was chuckling about.
Steve blew on his cocoa, looking at Hope over the rim of his cup. “So . . . your dream.”
Hope glanced at Santa’s Village. Reflection from the twinkling lights graced her face, giving her an angelic glow. “I want to own my own bakery again.”
“Was it Pie in the Sky in Portland?” he blurted.
“Yes.”
“That’s where we met.”
“Yes.”
“But I didn’t remember.”
“Completely understandable,” Hope said. “You meet a lot of people. I was one of thousands and behind the counter. In essence, faceless.”
Steve couldn’t grasp how humble she was. “Why did you sell it?”
“I had to.” She shrugged one shoulder, as if it meant nothing, but he sensed it did.
“Why?” he blurted, and quickly waved a hand. “Don’t answer. Delete that. Stupid question. I get it. Your husband walked out, and it became too much for you to run a business and take care of the kids.”
“No, that wasn’t it.”
“It’s still open.”
“That’s good to hear. I invested a lot of time and energy building up the business.”
“The pie crust isn’t as good as yours.”
Hope scrunched her nose in a pixie-like way. “That’s a shame, but I have to admit I didn’t sell the new owner my recipe.” She glanced to where her kids were standing.
Steve followed her gaze. Melody and Todd were talking to Santa. Both looked euphoric. He sipped his cocoa, waiting for more. Hope didn’t continue.
“Couldn’t your parents help you out?” he asked.
Lincoln said, “Her parents died years ago in a car accident.”
Hope’s eyes grew misty.
“Oh, man, I’m sorry,” Steve said. Slick, boy-o. Super slick. Open mouth, insert both feet. He was stunned that his brother knew more than he did, but Lincoln did pay attention. He might not be able to spit out everything that cycled through his brain, but he was bright. “I had no idea.”
Hope said, “They left me an inheritance, but . . .”
Steve gagged on his cocoa, the truth becoming clear. “No. Say it isn’t so. Your husband ran off with the money?”
“More like ran through it.”
“How? Did he start a losing business venture?”
“He was . . . is . . .” Bitterness and regret flickered in Hope’s eyes. “No. I’m not telling you more about my sob story. I wouldn’t want a reporter to hold your feet to the fire to get it out of you.”
“Hold Steve’s feet to the fire.” Lincoln chortled. “Ouch!”
“I wouldn’t . . . They wouldn’t . . .” Steve stopped blathering and nodded in understanding. He was seething, ready to kill Dave. Short of that, he’d remove every one of his boss’s fingernails to the quick.
“At the café, I get the chance to bake my mother’s specialty pies,” Hope said. “It’s good enough.”
Steve had never been okay with good enough. Hope Valley, as beautiful as it was and as much as he loved his family, had never been good enough. He’d had big dreams and had intended to achieve those dreams. It was why he’d moved to Portland and had made plans to land an even larger market. Now, however, standing alongside Hope, he was questioning those decisions, those dreams.
“What about a small business loan or a startup loan?” Steve asked. “Those aren’t too hard to get, I hear.”
“They are if you had to declare bankruptcy.” Hope sighed, resigned. “I’m saving up what little I can from tips. My paycheck goes to regular expenses.”
Lincoln said, “I wish I had enough money to buy the radio station.”
Hope turned to him. “Hold on. You said Mr. Q was retiring. You didn’t say he was selling.”
“Yup. KQHV is for sale.”
Hope frowned. “I had no idea.”
“It’s okay,” Lincoln said. “He’s getting old.”
“He was a terrific science teacher,” Hope said. “Steve, did you take biology with him?”
He nodded.
“Remember when he made the class dissect a frog?” Hope’s gaze lit up. “He cracked such corny jokes.”
Steve snorted in spite of himself. “What kind of shoes should someone wear when dissecting a frog?”
“Open-toad,” Hope answered, and offered a giggly ribbit.
The sound tickled Steve. “Mr. Q’s a good guy.”
“A good guy,” Lincoln echoed.
“Maybe you can save up to buy it, Lincoln,” Hope suggested.
“I can’t.” He wagged his head. “I don’t have a job.”
Hope looked at Steve. “Couldn’t your brother cut Christmas trees or serve cocoa or do dozens of odd jobs around town?”
Steve appreciated her naivete. “He could, but he’d bottom out. He doesn’t interact like other people, as you’ve probably noticed. He gets distracted.”
Hope said, “I bet if you were his boss, he’d be attentive. He adores you.”
Lincoln slung an arm around Steve and pulled him close. “You da’ boss,” he said with a rapper’s accent.
“Yeah, I am, and don’t you forget it.” Steve caught Hope watching her children as they left Santa and said, “They’re cute kids. You know, Todd—”
“Likes statistics.” Lincoln knuckled Steve’s arm. “Just like my brother. He’s really smart. He knows everything about every sport in the whole wide world.”
“Steve,” Hope said, her cheeks were flushed, her gaze fervent. “If you promise to keep the reporters that you swear you didn’t sic on me at bay, then yes, I’ll accept the prize. Re-accept the prize.” She let out an exasperated sigh. “I’ll take it!”
Joy shot through Steve. And something else he couldn’t put his finger on. Was he wishing for a future with Hope? Nah, no way. That was not going to happen. But it was definitely elation he was feeling, and for now, that was good. “I vow I will do everything I can”—he said, crossing his heart with his finger—“to protect your privacy.”
And he meant it.
