Marrying Miss Kringle: Frost Page 2

  Stella and Robyn exchanged looks that said they were so much more mature than their youngest sister.

  Something shifted in Robyn. She sat up taller and lifted her chin. “Stella’s right: we need to make this happen. But we aren’t going to find men by hiding in the ice palace.” Her eyes darted back and forth between the two of them. “I think we need to head south, maybe even stay a week.”

  Frost’s heart fluttered like a bird caught in a cage. South? She didn’t do south, unless you counted Easter dinner in Mexico with their grandparents.

  Stella leaned in. “It’s mid-November.”

  Robyn ran her finger in circles on the table. “It’s hard-candy-making season now. The elves have done that for centuries without me. I could take a week. You?”

  “Production is busy all year long.” Stella blew out her lips. “Although I could manage things remotely thanks to Lux’s new system. If she could set me up with text alerts, I think I could go.”

  They both turned on Frost. She shook her head, making her white hair shake in front of her face. “Y-you two go on ahead.”

  Both their heads tipped in sympathy. Frost felt it, and while she was grateful they tried to understand, she needed to stay home.

  “We’ll be with you the whole time,” offered Stella.

  “Sure, until you see some guy with more muscles than brains.” Robyn smirked at her sister. “But I promise to stick with you.”

  Frost rubbed her arms. “It’s not my year. I’m the youngest. You two should find your husbands first.”

  Robyn huffed. “Apparently, Christmas Magic doesn’t give a partridge in a pear tree about birth order. And I don’t, either. Come with us—just to get used to being south-er.”

  Frost hesitated, searching for a polite way to tell them to jump out of a flying sleigh.

  Stella took her hesitation as a silent agreement and forged on. “Perfect. Where should we go? I was thinking of heading back to Alaska.”

  “No thanks.” Robyn popped another chocolate. “We need someplace new.”

  Frost puzzled the question of where they should go. She puzzled it high and she puzzled it low. And while she puzzled, a strange thought came to be. A thought she thought just might be the key. She tried to hold it in, did her best to be good. But there was a part of Frost Kringle that never quite could. “Oregon,” Frost whispered, staring off into space. “Elderberry, Oregon. That’s the place.”

  Both her sisters stared at her. “Why there?” asked Stella.

  Frost cleared her throat, breaking through the fog that had clouded her mind while at the same time giving herself clarity. She mentally stumbled to come up with an excuse that wouldn’t reveal her biggest and best-kept secret. “It’s got a large populate of single men. There’s a, um, paper company and mill and they make beautiful stationary.” Like cream envelopes with gold trim that bring the most wonderful letters.

  Stella shrugged. “As long as it’s got men, I’m game.”

  Robyn poked Stella in the arm. “That’s your problem—you need to be pickier.”

  “Do you have a better idea?”

  Frost held her breath. She’d dreamed and dreamed of going to Elderberry, of meeting Tannon, of finally seeing the man whose words had captured her heart. If she was a romantic, it was because each mail delivery included a little bit of romance just for her.

  “No,” admitted Robyn.

  “Okay, then.” Stella slapped her hand on the table. “Meeting adjourned. We’re going to Elderberry the day after tomorrow. Have your bags packed.”

  Frost threaded her fingers together under the table, holding her hands tight, tight, tight in an effort to hold in her excitement as her sisters left the room. She was going to meet Tannon.

  “I’m going to meet Tannon,” she said out loud. With a squeal, she threw her hands in the air.

  This trip may be the best thing that ever happened to her, or it may be the ending of a long and special friendship. Either way, the time had come to meet her crush face-to-face.

  Chapter 2

  Dear Tannon,

  Thank you for the paper samples! They are scrumptious. I’m particularly fond of the purple sheets, which is why I’ve chosen to write on one of them today. I believe you spoil me, Mr. Cebu. If you were here, or I were there, I would grant you a Christmas wish. What would you wish for if you could have anything in the world? I could fly to Germany and bring you spritz cookies or Russia for Ptichye Moloko. Or, I could pick you up a ukulele from Hawaii. Say the word and your wish is granted.

  In answer to your question, I adore children. How could I not? The whole purpose of life at the North Pole is to make children happy. I, more so than anyone except for possibly Santa, feel connected to them because I get to read their letters. I suppose any one of my sisters or brothers-in-law could walk into the mail room and pick up a letter, but none of them do and I’m quite all right with that.

  In answer to your other question, I dressed as the Ice Queen for Halloween this year. I know you think adults aren’t supposed to dress up and trick-or-treat, but my niece “encouraged” us all to make this Halloween a royal one, and since none of us can say no to the little fairy, we did just that. We had a Snow White, a Cinderella, an Ice Queen, a Belle, and a Rapunzel. We weren’t allowed to take pictures of my brothers-in-law in costume, which is a shame. My parents and the elves answered doors for our troop of royalty. I must say, I’m particularly fond of my gown. I won’t bore you with the sparkly details, but it’s stunning enough that I truly feel like a princess when I slipped into the satin. I left a trail of glitter behind me, no doubt. I’m sure the elves loved to clean that November 1st.

  How is work? You sounded stressed in your last letter, and I’m worried for you.

  I have to go; the mail sleigh is leaving soon and I’d like to get this letter in the bag before it flies off. I don’t want you to think that I’ve forgotten you. I couldn’t do that even if I tried.

  Have a merry day,

  Miss Kringle

  Tannon Cebu closed his eyes and let out a contented sigh. Ever since he could remember, he’d felt lighter after reading one of Miss Kringle’s letters. This time was particularly enlightening because he’d worried something fierce over asking her about children. He’d never told her of his teenaged antics, of the time he’d spent making himself and his parents miserable. No, she believed the best of him as a child, teen, and now adult of 26 years, and he’d withheld information in order to keep it that way.

  He opened his eyes and glanced at the picture of his seven-year-old son, Conner, riding on the tractor with his Grandpa. They loved to putter around the forest together on that thing.

  Tannon shook himself. Miss Kringle was a fantasy that could never happen. Heck, he didn’t even know if she was real or some psychologist his dad had hired to help him through a tough time. He wouldn’t put it past the old man to have read his Christmas letter all those years ago and sought help from a professional.

  The more he thought about it, the more unlikely he found that to be a plausible explanation. For one, a professional psychologist wouldn’t encourage him to believe in Santa as a twenty-six-year-old man. And Miss Frost most definitely perpetuated the Santa myth.

  For two, someone hired when he’d had his leg amputated would have been much older than him. He’d read and reread all of Miss Kringle’s letters over the years. While her penmanship was excellent at eight years old, it was not that of an adult. And it had gotten better over time—so gradually that it was impossible to think she was faking her age.

  Therefore, as much as he would have liked to end the secrecy surrounding his unidentified woman by saying she was hired by his father, the mystery remained.

  His other theory was that she’d been in his class at school, or perhaps the hospital ward where he’d had chemo treatments and eventually his leg removed just above the knee. He’d done an exhaustive search of all the people he remembered from back in the days of antiseptic smells and prosthetic fittings,
and none of them seemed capable of pulling off an elaborate ruse such as this.

  He should be reading through the eco reports on the effluent treatment line, but his soul was tired, tired of the fight to keep this company thriving. Instead, he removed a sheet of paper from his drawer, along with a matching envelope, and penned a reply.

  He’d stopped wondering if Miss Kringle would answer back years ago; she would. She always did, though her answers often surprised him. If he asked for her first name, he got a no. If he asked for a picture, he got a no. But if he asked what she liked best about her work in Letters, she’d tell him that she loved reading Christmas wishes because wishes were honest.

  He carefully penned her name and address on the outside of the envelope, adding his name and return address as always. Each letter looked the same on the outside. He wondered if Miss Kringle waited on bated breath for his letters as he waited for hers. One moment he was sure he was in love with her, and the next he would question if any of this was real, including his feelings.

  “Mr. Cebu?”

  Tannon looked up from his task to find his secretary, Mrs. Garron, clutching a folder, her bulbous knuckles white and the folder in serious danger of being crushed. She had a toy turkey pin on her jacket, the only sign in the entire office that Thanksgiving was less than a week away. “Yes?”

  “I have the recommendations you asked for.”

  A cold sweat broke out along his bald head. Curse chemo for stealing his hair anyway. He was an exception in the medical community, staying bald after the treatments. “You can leave it on the corner of my desk.” He nodded, indicating which corner. He had no more of a desire to glance through the list of people to fire than Mrs. Garron had to hand it over. He wondered if her son-in-law was on the list. Jesse was one of the latest men hired to work in the plant, which meant he would be one of the first let go. It probably killed her to type his name, but Mrs. Garron was honest to a fault and he was a tool for asking her to compile the list. Had he thought before speaking, he would’ve given the assignment to someone else. Who? He had no idea. Besides being honest, Mrs. Garron was discreet—a quality he valued more now that he may have to do company-wide layoffs.

  She walked slowly to the desk, dropped the folder as if it were a hot lump of coal, and backed away. After a moment of glaring at his floor, she cleared her throat. “Your three o’clock is here.”

  Tannon retrieved a handkerchief from his suit pocket and dabbed his forehead. “Send them in.” He stood, checked to see if his tie was straight, and tugged at the bottom of his suit coat. He wasn’t sure who this guy was, but he’d made the appointment over two weeks ago and it wouldn’t do to keep him waiting.

  A man who couldn’t be much older than Tannon strode into the office with his hand outstretched. “Tannon Cebu—it’s good to finally meet you. Brad Goodfellow.”

  “Brad.”

  They shook hands and went through the pleasantries. Tannon noticed his letter on the desk, the North Pole address clearly visible. As Brad complimented him on everything from the product to plant efficiency, he tucked the letter into his outgoing stack and then leaned back in his chair, waiting for the real reason this guy had waltzed into his office.

  “Which brings me to why I’m here.”

  It’s about time.

  Brad set one ankle on the other knee in an effort to appear relaxed. He didn’t. “I represent the Huffman Lumber Company. As I’m sure you’re aware, lumber prices have been climbing the last few years.”

  Tannon nodded. The fact was common knowledge in Oregon, where lumber companies were king of the hills. His paper mill was tucked up into the mountains and was the heart and soul of Elderberry. Seventy-five percent of the people who lived in the town made their living off the plant in one way or another. The weight of that responsibility could crush a man’s soul in a few short years. Which was probably why his father had taken the first shot at retirement he got and didn’t look back. While Dad was busy being the world’s best grandpa, Tannon was stuffed into a suit and shoved into an office every day.

  “We couldn’t help but notice that you’re sitting on some fine land up here and have trees ready to harvest, and we’d like to make you an offer.”

  Tannon lifted his hand. “I can’t sell you our trees, Brad. I’d be seriously hurting our future.”

  Brad’s too-big lips spread into a too-big smile. “I’m not asking to buy your trees, Mr. Cebu. I’m offering to buy your land.”

  “What good does that do me?” Without his land, which was paid for, the paper company would go under in less than three months.

  “It would do you quite a bit of good.” Brad pulled a business card out of his pocket, placed it on the table, and pushed it towards Tannon. “You would be set for life, Mr. Cebu, as would your children if you were stupid with the money and your great-grandchildren if you’re smart.”

  Tannon stared at the little card with more zeros than he had ever seen in his life. With that kind of money, he could be a full-time dad. He could attend every Little League game, every parent–teacher conference, and every family dinner. Doors would open for him and his son all over the world.

  He could meet Miss Kringle in Germany for that cookie or in Hawaii for ukulele lessons. He could marry her. Which, up to this point, had been a dream his heart made and one that he’d only alluded to in his letters. But that was flirting, knowing full well she’d shoot him down. What would he do if he really saw her? If she said yes? His fingers glided over his scalp. What would she think of a man with a stump for a leg and no hair? It was one thing to read about them in print and quite another to see the look in person.

  He glanced up to find Brad leaning back in his chair and kicking his legs out in front of him as if he owned the place. For the amount of money he offered, he very well could own the plant.

  Tannon pulled out a blank sheet of luxurious 100% cotton stock paper and picked up his fountain pen. “Talk to me about particulars.”

  Brad sprang forward in his seat. “Really?”

  “Was this a joke?” Tannon scowled. He hated being teased, had had quite enough of it during junior high school.

  “No, but …” Brad rubbed his hands down his pant legs, no doubt sweating under the pressure. “I didn’t expect you to say yes.”

  “I said I’d listen—so start talking.”

  Brad scooted so far to the edge of his seat it was a miracle he didn’t fall on his backside. “Here’s what we had in mind.”

  “Mr. Cebu?” Mrs. Garron stood at the door, her face ashen. “I don’t feel right.”

  Tannon sprung upward. His limp was more pronounced when he was in a hurry, but that didn’t stop him from racing across the room. He didn’t make it before she grabbed her arm, her face contorted in pain, and she tumbled forward, landing in a heap.

  He stuck his prosthetic straight out to the side and landed hard on his left knee.

  Her chest moved up and down, and he found her pulse racing against his fingers. “Call an ambulance,” he barked at Brad, who was watching the whole scene through his fingers like a kid at a horror flick. He scrambled for his cell phone and made the call.

  “Mrs. Garron?” Tannon lightly tapped her cheeks, afraid to move her in case she’d injured herself when she fell. She groaned and tried to roll onto her back. Tannon helped her get more comfortable. “It’s going to be okay. Help is on the way.”

  She didn’t appear to be fully conscious, but he talked about her daughter anyway—just in case she could hear him. The paramedics arrived quickly and Tannon was pushed out of the way.

  He used the door handle to pull himself to standing, aware that most of the eyes in the office were on him and not his dedicated secretary on the floor. That was a good thing. If he could save her some embarrassment by looking awkward, then he’d gladly do it, because the prim and proper woman would die if she saw herself sprawled out on the gray carpet.

  Within twenty minutes, the place had cleared out of emergency personnel and their
equipment. Mrs. Garron was on her way to the hospital for an MRI, her daughter en route to help. Tannon leaned against the wall just outside his office, trying to catch his breath.

  Brad gathered his shiny briefcase. “This may not be the best time to discuss our deal.” He offered his hand. “I hope she gets well soon. I’ll call, and maybe we can get together after the holiday.”

  Tannon shook his hand and nodded. “I’d like to know more about this. Thank you.”

  A small crowd hung around, still talking about the excitement. Tannon watched as Brad walked through them. At the last second, Davey from accounting grabbed his sleeve. Brad’s face lit up like they were old friends and they talked for a minute. Tannon was about to disappear into his office—he’d need to hire a temp until Mrs. Gannon was back on her feet—when he saw Brad point a finger toward his office. Davey jerked back as if shocked.

  Tannon narrowed his eyes, willing Brad to keep the topic of their conversation under wraps. He didn’t need the rumor mill, which ran as efficiently as the paper mill, to get wind of a potential sale. That could be disastrous for his family.

  He went into his office and shut the door, knowing there was nothing he could do about it now. He found the number of a temp office located two towns over and put in a request for a replacement secretary before picking up his stack of letters and heading for the door.

  Real life was heavy, and he was already looking forward to the lightness that came with Miss Kringle’s next letter.

  Chapter 3

  Dear Miss Kringle,

  I try not to think about who you really are, but sometimes I can’t help but wonder. I saw a commercial this morning. It was one of those public advisory things to teach children the skills to survive in this crazy world. The focus was online safety, and they covered the basics: not giving away personal information to strangers, be careful what you post because you can’t take it back, keep your privacy setting high, and don’t believe profile pictures. I’ve broken all the basic rules with you. Well, except for the picture rule, since you won’t send me a photo. (Hint, hint.)