Page 1 of Midnight Clear

ChapterOne

Sophie Jacobs loved Christmas.

She loved looking through the plate-glass window of her bookshop and seeing snow flurries dance to the ground. She loved the scents of cinnamon that drifted down Main Street from the bakery and the fresh pine from the boughs that hung above the doors of all the businesses downtown. But most of all, she loved the spirit of Christmas—the good cheer, the joy, and that giving was worth more than receiving.

So she couldn’t figure out why Hank O’Hara was standing in her crowded store, seeming larger than life in his boots and rugged lambskin coat, asking if she had a few minutes to talk. No she didn’t have a few minutes to talk. Couldn’t he see that both cash registers were three people deep? Or that Julie Milton’s little boy had just knocked over a candle display? Or that Freddie, her part-time clerk, looked like she was coming down with a cold and would probably have to be sent home soon?

She felt her perpetual Christmas cheer beginning to dim, so she kicked her smile up a notch as she tied a big red bow on one of the specialty cloth bags she sent home with shoppers, and then she handed it to the woman across the counter. She was obviously a tourist—a wealthy one judging by her designer purse and shoes that would have paid all her employees’ salaries for the month—and she had the look of a woman who lived a resort lifestyle. She was probably mid-fifties, but her plastic surgeon had done a great job of putting her back in her thirties. Sophie had gotten good at pegging people quickly over the years.

And though Laurel Valley was swamped with tourists just like the woman in front of her during the Christmas season, there was no way The Reading Nook could have survived without the tourists, so she thanked God for each and every one of them.

“Merry Christmas,” Sophie said. “Come back and see us.”

“Thank you,” the woman said, brushing artfully tousled blond bangs out of her eyes. “I just love your shop. It’s so quaint. It’s like it’s from a different time. All these built-in bookcases and the big stained-glass window. It reminds me of my parents’ home back in Ohio. My father was a carpenter. He did beautiful woodwork like this.”

“This was the house my grandmother grew up in,” Sophie said, smiling. “Her father built it. After she and my grandfather got married she used this house to open the bookstore. And then it passed to my mother. And now it’s mine.”

“That’s wonderful,” the woman said, her face lighting up with pleasure. “Merry Christmas to you.” And then she headed out the door, causing the little bell to ring and a smattering of snow flurries to swirl onto the entry mat where they melted quickly.

Hank O’Hara was the next customer in line, and Sophie felt her smile dim. He didn’t have anything in his hands, and she found herself looking at them as he laid them flat on her counter. Working man’s hands. There was an interesting and jagged scar across the top of his right hand that stood out stark against his tanned skin, but otherwise his hands were unadorned.

She knew Hank, of course. Everyone in town knew the O’Haras. But she didn’t know him well. Sophie had been in the same grade as his brother Wyatt, but Hank had graduated several years ahead of them. Then he’d gone off to Denver for college to get a business degree, and when he’d come home he’d opened O’Hara Construction. A lot had changed in Laurel Valley in the ten years since. He’d somehow gone from renovating the storefronts downtown, to opening multimillion-dollar ski resorts on the mountain.

The changes in Laurel Valley, whether you loved them or hated them, had everything to do with the man standing in front of her.

“Sophie Jacobs,” Hank said, giving her the trademark O’Hara grin. “You’re a difficult woman to get in touch with.”

“Not so much,” she said, her eyes skimming the shop to make sure everything was all right and none of her employees needed help. “I’m here every day. Except Sundays.”

She had to give it to the O’Haras. They all had charm in spades, and none of them were hard on the eyes. But by her way of thinking, Hank had always had something a littlemorethan the others. He was tall, a couple of inches over six feet. His shoulders were broad, and she knew under the bulky coat he wore his muscles were well defined. She’d seen him swinging a hammer or operating a heavy piece of machinery on more than one occasion. His dark-blond hair was in need of a trim and there was a scruff of beard on his face that seemed to emphasize the angle of his jaw.

But it was his eyes that held the real power. A soft green the color of the antique glass her mother liked to collect. It was rare not to see other shades of color or variation, but his were crystal clear and seemed all the more captivating framed by dark lashes.

But the Jacobses and the O’Haras didn’t run in the same circles. Not by a long shot. The O’Haras were like royalty in Laurel Valley. And the Jacobses…well, the Jacobses’ claim to fame was that her father had driven off the mountain in a drunken stupor and the explosion had lit up the whole town. She’d been fifteen at the time. The Jacobses and the O’Haras werenotthe same.

“How’s your family?” he asked, because that’s the first thing any local asked another out of politeness.

“Good,” Sophie said. “I’m meeting Mom, Aunt Lori, and Junie at The Lampstand for dinner. Apparently Mom has big news. She seemed excited.”

“I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “She was always nice to us when we came in here when I was a kid. I’m sure it was nerve-wracking having five boys come through here like bulls in a china shop.”

“It’s all part of being a shop owner,” Sophie said, wincing as she heard something fall from the back. “Are you buying something?”

“No,” he said, grinning again. “I figured waiting in line was the only way I’d get to talk to you. I’ve been trying to reach you for a couple of weeks.”

“It’s the busiest season of the year,” she said, not meeting his gaze. Those eyes were just too unsettling, and she’d be darned if she went around fawning like other women who said one look at those eyes made them fall in love. Those women needed to have a little self-respect. And self-control. “Maybe after New Year.”

“I was thinking breakfast. Before the shop opens in the morning. Say around eight o’clock?” He handed her a business card. “That’s my personal cell number there.”

“I don’t understand,” she said, turning the card over in her hand. “What’s this about? Why do you want to meet?”

“I want to buy your shop,” he said.

Her gaze snapped up to his and she met those cool green eyes with fire.

“I was wondering if you were ever going to look me in the eye,” he said, seemingly unfazed. “Do I make you nervous?”

She could feel the anger boiling inside her, and she knew her cheeks were flushed. She sputtered. “You want to buy my shop? You must be crazy. It’s not for sale.”

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