Page 23 of Home for Christmas in July

The glimmer bobs along the path that leads from the Jollys’ fishing cabin to the far side of the lake. There’s a silhouette moving down the hillside from the cabin. The light is the setting sun bouncing off glass. If I have to guess, the glass is a set of binoculars pressed up against a face I can’t quite make out. But I know it’s Nick. I can tell by his gait, his shape.

I raise a hand in a halting greeting. Then, feeling self-conscious and exposed, I smooth it over my windswept hair as if that had been my intent all along. As I brush my hair out of my eyes, Nick’s attention shifts and he jerks his head toward a loud noise in the woods. I hear it, too. Sound carries up here, echoing off the mountain behind the lake. I write off the sound as a group of mountain bikers or a family of deer. So I’m surprised when Nick veers off the path and runs into woods.

The sun dips a little lower, and I remember why I’m out here. If I don’t find the clue before the sun sets, I’m unlikely to find it until tomorrow. Putting Nick out of my mind, I resume my search of the gazebo. Nothing. Nada. Bupkus.

Frustrated, I fist my hands on my hips and think. Whilethis pagoda has the best view of the swans, there are other vantage points on the property—and off it. The swans are visible from the restaurant’s outdoor seating area up the hill and from Nick and Noelle’s dock. It’s dinner time, so I don’t want to traipse up to Santa’s Cellar and start checking under the chairs, but I could drive around to the other side of the lake and check the Jollys’ dock. And if I’m quick about it, I can look around and get off the property before Nick returns from the woods, avoiding an awkward conversation.

Mind made up, I hurry back to the car and follow the looping drive around the lake. I flick my gaze repeatedly to the woods to my left, searching for a glimpse of whoever’s in the woods, but see nothing. I park near the lake and get out of the car, scanning the immediate area for a likely spot to hide an envelope. It has to be someplace protected from the elements and wildlife. There aren’t too many options here. I eye the wooden platform that holds Merry’s ten-frame beehive. The structure abuts a riotously blooming pollinator garden and would be a logical spot to hide the next clue, but there’s a zero point zero percent chance, I’m sticking my hand anywhere near that thing. If I can’t find the envelope without braving the hive, I’ll ask Merry to check the next time she’s up here gathering honey.

Giving the hive a wide berth, I continue along the path. There’s a birdhouse and a squirrel feeder further up the hill. I’m willing to take my chances with non-stinging wildlife, so I shield my eyes from the glare of the fading sun on the water and head up the hill.

“Noelle.”

My name is a whisper on the wind. I whirl around,expecting to see Nick. There’s nobody there. I give a shaky laugh and try to write it off as a birdcall or a chittering squirrel. But the skin on the back of my neck is prickling and goosebumps rise on my arms. I stand rooted to the spot, listening hard.

There it is. A softcrack,as if someone has stepped on a twig. This is different from the noisy thwacking and thrashing I heard earlier. This is a stealthy sound. It sounds like someone is trying to sneak up behind me. My heart thumps and my mouth goes dry as I turn my head slightly and register motion at the periphery of my vision. A figure slips between the trees.

“Nick?” My voice is a rasp.

There’s no answer, and I turn to stare into the woods. The branches of the tree closest to me sway slightly as if they’ve been brushed aside by movement. I jerk back. There’s every chance I’m imagining things and spooking myself. But after Italy, I promised myself I wouldalwayshonor my intuition. And right now, my intuition is screaming at me to run.Run.

But the trees are between me and my car, and I can’t force myself to go past them. Instead, I lower my head and sprint toward the cabin on shaking legs. My throat burns and tears fill my eyes. I launch myself up the stairs to the front porch, where, for the second time in three days, I run smack into Nick Jolly’s broad muscular chest.

CHAPTER 10

Nick

Itrample through the brush, frustrated. Therewassomeone out there, but they’ve vanished. Out of breath, I circle around to the cabin and mount the steps in the back. As I round the corner of the wraparound porch, I collide with someone and jerk back in surprise.

Instinctively, I plant my feet and raise my fists. My immediate thought is that whoever was in the woods is trying to get into my cabin. Before I can take a swing, my brain processes what I’m seeing and I exhale. It’s Noelle.

She’s shaking and panting, and I clasp her by her shoulders to steady her as I search her face and arms for injuries.

“Are you hurt?”

Her eyes are wide and her face is pale save for two bright red blotches on her cheeks.

“Nick, you startled me.”

That makes two of us, I think. What I say is, “What’s wrong?” Because clearly, something happened to terrify her.

She gives a shaky laugh. “I thought I heard someone.”

“In the woods?”

She freezes. “Yes.” Then she tries to brush it off. “Probably my imagination.”

“There was someone in the woods,” I tell her and immediately regret it.

Her chest heaves and her breath is shallow and too fast. She’s hyperventilating.

I keep one hand on her arm while I unlock the door and ease it open. “Let’s get you inside.”

I guide her through the doorway and sit her down on the small couch by the hearth. She lets her head drop toward her knees. Once I’m sure she’s steady on the seat, I hurry to the kitchen and pour a glass of water.

Crouching in front of her, I press the glass into her hands. “Drink.”

She clutches it as she lifts her head. She gulps down some water before saying, “Thanks. I’m okay.”

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