Page 6 of Mistletoe Dreams
Ben pulled out his phone where he had written down the things that he wanted Mason to do, copied and pasted it in a message and clicked send.
"I just sent it to you. I don't want you to do anything else until those things are done. Once they are, we'll talk about going fishing."
"Maybe I don't want to," Mason said, but he didn't sound quite as belligerent as he had. Ben guessed Mason probably was desperate for love and attention and probably did feel like Ben had dropped the ball by letting Peyton take him. Or maybe Mason was upset that his mother had basically said that she didn't want him.
It was a complicated situation, and Ben supposed Peyton was right in a way. He didn't relate to people very well. That was why he went into law enforcement instead of some kind of teaching or counseling career.
"I'll be the first person to admit that I'm not perfect," he said, his voice low-pitched and devoid of anger.
"You can say that again," Mason said.
"I'm so glad I have a perfect son to use as my example so someday I can attain perfection just like him." Maybe Ben shouldn't be using sarcasm, but he couldn't help himself.
Mason rolled his eyes.
"How am I supposed to clean the gutters?"
"Do you see beside that line where it says I'm going to do that with you?"
Mason sighed, a drawn-out, imposed-upon sound that made it clear that having to work with Ben was akin to being on a chain gang. "Do I really have to work with you? It's going to take all day. You're slow and old."
"I think we've established the fact that I'm old. And I might be slow, but we'll get the job done right so we only have to do it once."
"Whatever," Mason muttered. "I'm going to my room. You can call me when you're ready."
"No, you can go out to the garage and get the ladder. I'll meet you out there as soon as I'm done eating. But before you do that, you can wipe up the messes that you've made on the kitchen counter, here on the table, and also on the coffee table."
Mason glared at him, but he went reluctantly to the sink, grabbed a wet rag, and cleaned up the messes.
Ben sighed inside. It was going to be a long day.
Chapter Four
Monday morning Hannah left her grandma's house in plenty of time to get to work at the clinic. It was her first day, and she didn't want to be late. But she had spent the entire weekend unloading and arranging her things, and also wanted to get to know the town a little. So, seeing she had an entire hour before she needed to be at the clinic, went into the town, parked, and strolled down Main Street.
It was quiet since it was early in the morning, but there was still a man in the window at the candy cane shop and another man making candles at the candle shop. She wanted to stop and watch but decided if she walked the whole way through town and had enough time, she might stop for a few minutes on the way back.
As she approached the town square, admiring the beauty and how neatly it was laid out, she noticed something weird on the gazebo in the middle of it. As she drew closer, she realized that graffiti must've been painted on the structure overnight, or sometime over the weekend, since it hadn't been there when she had admired it while making a grocery run on Friday.
The words were vile, and she cringed. Who would deface such a beautiful thing with such awful profanity?
She didn't really understand the mentality of people who enjoyed destroying things. She was a builder. She gravitated toward the good and the wholesome. A healer.
Deliberately defacing and destroying things was a mindset she didn't comprehend.
"Do you know anything about this?" a deep voice said from behind her, causing her to startle and turn, her hand going to her throat.
"No. Other than it wasn't like this on Friday when I came through town."
Her eyes narrowed. The man in the uniform looked familiar.
Could it be?
"Ben? Ben Tucker?" She couldn't keep the words from coming out of her mouth.
His eyes widened, and for just a fraction of a second, his sheriff-on-duty mask slipped from his face as his eyes swept over her as though trying to figure out who she was.
"I'm sorry. I don't recognize you."
