Marrying Miss Kringle: Frost Page 8

  Robyn laughed. “If you can accomplish that, then I’ll owe you one.”

  “Deal. You can convince Stella to cut our trip short.” Frost got to her feet. “Now go change clothes. You’re freaking me out.”

  Robyn laughed. “Fine.” She hopped to her feet as if her burden had been exponentially lifted.

  Frost wished she could say the same thing about her troubles. When she entered her room, she ached to write Tannon a letter about today—to tell him all the details and know that he would read every line and see her side. She doubted he would see today the same way she did. She changed quickly and buried herself under layer upon layer of blankets. Squeezing her eyes shut, she prayed for sleep, because if she really thought about a life without letters on gold-rimmed paper, she’d never be able to hold back the tears.

  Chapter 8

  Tannon waited until his car was the only one in the parking lot before leaving the office. He wasn’t going to set foot outside until he was sure every reporter was off the premises. They hadn’t taken nicely to his one official comment, but he wasn’t willing to discuss the possibility of selling the company nor his reasons for wanting to sell the company. They were deep and went all the way back to his childhood fight with cancer—something he held so tight to his chest that it would be impossible to let it all out without creating a hole.

  He also didn’t want to run into Ms. Cratchit, although she’d made it clear that she couldn’t stand him. The looks he got from the office staff when he went for his afternoon soda in the break room could’ve lit his tie on fire. How on earth she managed to ingratiate herself into the hearts of nearly every employee was beyond him. He’d worked with these people for years and they could hardly stand to look at him. Worse yet, he could hardly stand to look at himself. What had he done, banning Christmas? That wasn’t like him. He actually liked the holiday. He pinched the bridge of his nose. Ms. Cratchit had gotten to him—that was all. She put her nose where it didn’t belong.

  The drive home was heavy with regret. A sense that he’d lost more than a personal assistant scratched at his mind. He attributed the feeling to his misplaced attraction to the dynamic woman. A man like him, an old man before his time, had no right feeling that way about Ms. Cratchit. She deserved someone who could match her enthusiasm for life step for step, not drag her down by limping along behind her.

  He ran his hands over the leather steering wheel, trying to remember the last time he’d been enthusiastic about life. Probably the day his son was placed in his arms. And the first time he’d heard him say “Dada.” Building a snowman together on Christmas last year with Brody was a magical day. All his best memories centered around his son. And yet a son couldn’t fill the place in his heart reserved for the love of his life.

  He pulled through the heavy iron gates and parked near the front door. His parents’ three-story house was made of red brick with black shutters and white trim. A classic look for sure, but anyone who knew his mother would expect nothing else. The cobblestoned front walk was banked by neatly trimmed grass. They didn’t have a front yard as much as they had a garden. Large hedges lined the area and cedar wood chips covered the distance between flowers and bushes. Several Japanese maple trees fluttered in the evening breeze, their remaining purple leaves reminding him of the torment in Ms. Cratchit’s eyes before she’d bidden him farewell. A breeze picked up his tie and flung it against his neck. A storm was coming, and by the chill in the air it would bring snow with it.

  He entered the house, removed his shoes, and paused inside the door to listen for Brody. The boy hadn’t learned the difference between inside voices and outside voices, and since he hadn’t learned it by eight years old, he wasn’t likely to learn it in this life.

  The house was quiet. Too quiet. Tannon breezed through the kitchen, snagging a roll from a bowl on the counter and tearing off a piece. His mom had some serious talent with yeast. He was on his way up the staircase when he heard voices coming from his father’s office. Dad didn’t go in there much since leaving the mill. Curious, Tannon headed that direction.

  “It would make things much easier.” Dad’s words came out in his deep timbre.

  “He’s done everything we asked him to do, Donald. He’s the man you always thought he could be,” Mom replied.

  Tannon stopped his advance, caught in a snare. If he moved forward, his parents would know he had heard something and they’d stop talking. If he backed away, he may never know what they truly thought of him. A desire to please his father, one that was placed in his heart the day he was born, compelled him to stay—to listen with a sense of purpose. Had he pleased his dad? He’d invested hours of labor for a degree he didn’t want and years of working a job that was slowly turning him into a—what had Ms. Cratchit called him?—a Grinch and a Scrooge rolled into one.

  What would Miss Kringle think of him if she knew the resentment that drove his daily actions?

  He didn’t have time to contemplate the answer, as his dad was talking again. “He’s a sound businessman and I am proud of his work at the plant.”

  “But?” prodded Mom.

  “But I see him making the same mistakes I did as a father, and I want more for Brody. We can give him more.”

  Tannon leaned forward on his toes, his arms tingling with dread.

  “He didn’t want us to adopt Brody when he was born. What makes you think he’ll do it now?” Mom’s tone was soft and more hopeful than Tannon would have liked.

  “He’s building a life for himself and he’s never here. At least he had you when I worked late.”

  “Brody has us.”

  “And we can be great parents for him—together.”

  Tannon clenched his hands into fists. His parents would not get custody of Brody. He was Brody’s father, and that was how it was going to stay. Let them ask—he’d have no trouble telling them how it was.

  He turned smartly and made his way to Brody’s room at the top of the stairs. He pushed the door open with a flat hand, letting the light from the hallway spill across the bed.

  Brody faced the wall, his shoulder lifting slightly with each breath. Tannon stepped onto the plush carpet that often hid lethal Lego pieces. He scooted his feet along to avoid toys and settled onto the side of the bed, the mattress sinking under his weight.

  Brody stirred, rubbed his eyes, and then smiled up at Tannon. “Dad.”

  Tannon released the tension in his neck and arms as he scooped up his kid. Brody smelled like shampoo and soap and laundry softener. “I missed you, big guy.”

  Brody hugged him back.

  “How was your spelling test?”

  “I got nine out of ten.”

  “That’s pretty darn good.”

  “Grandpa said I could do better.”

  Tannon bit back his response. He remembered all too well the conversations Dad liked to have about grades. An A was for acceptable. An A+ was fine. Just fine. Never was anything brilliant. Wonderful. Great. “I think you did fantastic.”

  Brody’s whole face brightened, and so did Tannon’s soul. This was where he needed to be. Right here, being dad.

  Tannon relaxed his hold and let Brody settle back against the pillow. He yawned, showing off the hole where one of his baby molars had fallen out. The sight was a reminder of how fast Brody was growing up, and Tannon was missing it. His dad was right. He hadn’t been around much when Brody was growing up—first college and now the job just wouldn’t allow regular hours.

  But it did allow weekends. “Hey, why don’t we do something fun this Saturday?”

  Brody’s eyes popped all the way open. “Can we go ice-skating?”

  Tannon cringed. His prosthetic could do many things; ice-skating wasn’t one of them. He tried not to let himself feel like less of a man or less of a father because of his physical limitations, but there were times when he wished for a normal body. “Maybe.” He just couldn’t bring himself to say no when Brody was so hopeful. “I’ll see if there’s a rink nearby. If not,
I’ll find something else for just us guys.”

  “Okay.” Brody adjusted his position.

  Tannon tucked the blankets up around him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. “Good night.”

  “Night, Dad.”

  Two words was all it took to solidify his desire to keep Brody. A boy needed a father. Tannon swore to himself that no matter how many reporters he had to wade through, he’d be there to tuck his son in at night from now on. Not only that, he was going to be the one to help him practice his spelling words.

  Once he was in his room, the door firmly shut, he scrolled through his phone to find Brad Goodfellow’s number. Brad picked up on the second ring. They exchanged greetings and Tannon apologized for calling so late.

  “It’s no big deal. What can I do for you?”

  “I’d like to continue our conversation from the other day.”

  They spoke for a half hour, going over sale options. Tannon needed to think carefully before he made any decisions, but by the time they were done, he’d pretty much agreed to sell. Heck, he’d decided the minute Brody hugged him. Only the particulars slowed him down.

  After hanging up the phone, Tannon sat down at his desk and retrieved a fresh sheet of gold-embossed letterhead.

  Dear Miss Kringle …

  Chapter 9

  Frost plopped her purse on her beautiful and beloved secretary desk. It rolled to the side, and she caught it before it fell off. That was strange. She tried again, rocking it a little before it found a stable bottom.

  Minus Robyn’s new look thanks to a wardrobe makeover, the trip to Oregon was a mistake, and she felt the weight of loss most keenly now that she was in the mail room.

  “Welcome back, Miss Kringle,” said Agis. The bell on the end of her purple hat jingled a merry tune.

  “Thank you.” Frost tucked her chair underneath her and settled into the familiar cushions, only to have to shift several times to get her balance. Dad had done well while she was gone. Why wouldn’t he? He’d done this job longer than Frost, although he wasn’t used to the new computer system. Still, the incoming stack wasn’t as big as she’d feared.

  Cracking her knuckles, she settled in to get to work. She was so thankful she hadn’t told anyone of the highly personal nature of her trip south. If the family knew what she’d done, what she wanted to do—she shuddered. The consequences would be dire.

  She reached for a letter on the corner of the desk, intent on burying herself in her work and forgetting about the Scrooge who lived in Elderberry. The letter scooted away from her. She paused and tried again. This time the letter scooted right off her desk and fluttered to the floor. She stared after it, confused. It was almost as if the letter itself didn’t want her to read it.

  She glanced over her solder to see if Agis had noticed. She was busy with the automated envelope opener. Frost put her hands on her hips. She’d never had a letter deny her reading before. She slowly put her hand out and ran it across the line of incoming letters. They shrank away from her as if she were going to burn their pages. With a huff, she sat back in her seat.

  “It’s not the letters’ fault.” Ginger came out from behind a row of filing cabinets. Her usually cheery face was drawn and her blue eyes were like cracked ice. “It’s Christmas Magic.”

  Frost stiffened in response to what she felt in Ginger: sadness, reserved anger, and disappointment. “What’s going on?”

  Ginger shook her head, her auburn curls swaying with the movement, and motioned for Agis to leave them alone. Agis made her way deeper into the rows of filing cabinets. Somewhere in there was her personal space. Frost had looked for it several times, but like the rest of the cave, it was tied into the magic, and unless Agis wanted her to find it, she wouldn’t.

  “I’m not even sure where to begin.” With slow, steady grace, Ginger pulled her hand out from behind her back. In her delicate fingers was a gold-embossed envelope.

  At the sight of communication from a man she’d thought she loved, tears pooled in Frost’s eyes. “It’s not what you think.”

  “Tell me what I should think, Frost.” Ginger ran her fingers across the torn opening.

  “You opened it?” Frost snatched for the letter. Ginger let her have it without a fight. This one didn’t play keep-away. It settled into her fingers as easily as a pair of mittens.

  “It was addressed to Miss Kringle. There are five of us. And I didn’t understand how anyone would know we existed or have our address—so yes, I opened it. Once I read it, I—there was a … a… shift.” She twirled her fingers and a cracking breeze blew through the room, fluttering papers.

  Frost gripped her sister’s hands to stop her from twirling the breeze in a room full of loose papers. “You can’t unleash the Four Winds in here.” The seriousness of the situation catapulted her pulse over healthy limits. “The big mail rush is less than a month away. Every day will fill this room with more letters—you can’t blow them about.”

  Ginger nodded seriously, crossing her fingers as if hoping for the best. From the steely look in her eye, good things were not on the way.

  Frost sniffed and looked down at the letter that felt foreign in her hands. The only letter Christmas Magic would let her touch, perhaps because it was addressed to her. Pulled between wanting to fly high over the ocean and give the letter over to the winds and the waves and a need to read Tannon’s words once more, she asked, “What does it say?”

  “Enough.” Ginger placed her hand on Frost’s forearm. “How did it go? I assume you went to Elderberry to meet with him.”

  Frost nodded, her throat too full of emotion to talk clearly.

  “Well?”

  She sniffed and brushed her finger under her nose. “I’m not writing him anymore. He’s not who I thought he was, and his letters were a lie. All of them. It’s over.”

  Ginger hugged her fiercely. Frost’s body shook with sobs that threatened to overtake her.

  Ginger lifted her chin. “I don’t want to do this,” she said softly, talking to someone or something other than Frost.

  Frost pulled back and looked around. No one was here but them, yet Ginger’s eyes were rimmed in red. “You’re talking to the Magic now?”

  She pressed her lips. “Not in words, per se. I have this feeling, no—a compulsion, that I have to send you back.”

  “Send me back?” Frost recoiled much like the letters had pulled away from her only moments before. “You can’t send me back.”

  “I have to.” She fisted her hand and pressed it into her stomach. Frost could feel the guilt inside Ginger at having to banish her youngest sister. Banish. Not just send away, but prevent from coming back.

  “What did I do that was so bad?” Frost held her hands out in front of her. “I helped a boy believe in Santa Claus.”

  “You told him about you, about us, about the magic.”

  “Nothing he couldn’t have read in a dozen books or seen in as many movies.”

  “You took away his opportunity to believe and force-fed him the truth.”

  “I gave him hope when he didn’t have any and love—” She cut off and clammed up, afraid she’d said too much already.

  “You don’t have to be shy. It’s obvious he loves you too.” Ginger pointed to the envelope, still in Frost’s hand. Her features softened and the icy blue in her eyes melted. “You love him.”

  “I love the man I thought he was. He’s different. Downright ornery.”

  Ginger smiled knowingly. “I thought the same thing about Joseph. But under all his bluster was a carpenter with a kind heart.”

  “Tannon Cebu wouldn’t know a kind heart if it hit him in the stocking.”

  “Frost!” Ginger gasped. “You know, I’d expect something like this from Stella, but you …”

  Now that her deception was revealed, Frost felt free. Free for the first time in as long as she could remember. Free to be her, to let her Naughty List side shine. She lifted her chin. “I’ve been writing Tannon for sixteen years and not one of
you knew about it—how well do you really think you know me?”

  Ginger’s eyes darting around the room. “You lied?”

  Frost drew in a deep breath through her nose and grinned. “With pleasure.”

  “What?!”

  “I liked having Tannon all to myself. I liked having a secret. I liked flirting through letters and not telling the rest of you about my secret boyfriend. Do you know why?”

  Ginger planted her fists on her hips. “I can’t imagine.”

  “Because he was mine. Just mine. He isn’t part of this icy world we live in. He is normal, and he chose me. Me, the weird sister with the snowy white hair and the freakish purple eyes who sews her own clothes and enjoys reading things like government reports on paper coatings.” She hiccupped as a sob built in her chest.

  Ginger wrapped her in a hug and held on tight. “Frost, he picked you because you’re amazing.” Ginger’s heart was aching for Frost, which made Frost’s heart ache too. This was why Frost preferred the mail room to real life. Yes, sadness crossed her desk, but there was more hope than despair. And she was so sensitive to both. The least she could do was make this easier on Ginger.

  “I’m okay. It will be okay.” She rubbed Ginger’s back, flipping to the role of comforter.

  Ginger sobbed loudly. “Stop being all noble. You’re killing me.” She wanted Frost to lash out, to make it easier to say goodbye, but Frost couldn’t bring herself to behave badly. She wasn’t one to look for ways to misbehave. Writing Tannon was her one rebellion, and look where that had gotten her—cast out of her home. “I don’t know what we’ll do without you, Frost. I don’t want to send you away. We need you. ” Ginger let her go and spun in a slow circle. “I have no idea how this end of things works.”

  There was too much to tell her. The filing system. The way the letters spoke to her about the trouble kids had with bullies or older siblings or parents who fought and how that played in to what she entered into the computer. Ginger would be able to put them on the Naughty or Nice Lists, but she didn’t have the empathy to know which children needed an extra chocolate orange in their stocking or exactly which gift on their list would make them feel the most noticed, the most loved. Christmas would continue without her, but it wouldn’t be as personal.