The Christmas Cookie Chronicles: Carrie Page 3

  “So?”

  “What do you think is going to happen when you bust the very myth this town is founded on?”

  “How do you know I’m not going to prove the myth true?” he murmured.

  “Because,” she said, darting out the tip of her pink tongue to moisten her lips. The gesture caused something to shift below his belt. “The myth says if you toss a penny into the fountain, you’ll be forever reunited with your high school sweetheart and live happily ever after.”

  “You tossed a penny into the fountain?” His pulse was revving like the engine of his Cobra running full throttle on the open road. He could feel blood throbbing through his entire body.

  “Once, long ago. When I was young and stupid and believing in a ridiculous legend.”

  “Carrie.” Her name came out of him like a sigh. He remembered his longing for her, because it hit him anew. This yearning. A slap to the face—shocking.

  “So you see, Mark. The legend is total crap, because there’s no way in hell that you and I will ever, not ever in your wildest dreams, be reunited, much less live happily-ever-after.”

  “Okay,” he said, feeling sick to his stomach.

  “But if you ever felt anything at all for me, you have to make me a promise.”

  “What’s that?”

  “You cannot tell anyone about us. You cannot use our love affair to disabuse the sweetheart myth. You can’t capitalize on our failure to line your pockets. Especially when doing so will put Twilight’s livelihood in jeopardy.”

  “All right,” he said.

  “Promise me.” Desperate sincerity shone in her eyes.

  “I promise,” he assured.

  Her shoulders sagged visibly. “Thank you. If you keep your promise, then everything is square between us.”

  “I’ll keep it,” he said, mainly because he wasn’t any more eager than she was for the world to find out exactly how much he’d let her down.

  CHAPTER THREE

  Two days after her run-in with Mark, Carrie was at the Yarn Barn scowling at the cheery Christmas decorations that the knitting club had put up, but she wasn’t glaring at the ornaments as much as she was the current situation. Seeing Mark again had shaken her more than she’d anticipated.

  “Chill,” said Renee, the high school girl who worked for Carrie on the weekends. “You’re gonna pace a hole in the floor.”

  Carrie stood in front of the window looking out across the shopping center parking lot, realizing for the first time that she had been prowling like a cat outside a mouse hole. She crossed her arms over her chest.

  “What’s got you so worked up?” Renee asked, looking up for the first time that morning from the cell phone where she’d been engrossed in a game of Angry Birds.

  “Nothing. I’m not worked up.”

  “Uh-huh,” Renee said. “Sure you’re not.” The girl reminded Carrie far too much of her smart-mouthed self at that age.

  “Don’t you have work to do?”

  Renee shrugged, shoved a strand of purple hair from her forehead. “I already put away all the stock.”

  Ever since Mark and his stupid reality show had come to town, business had slacked off. It seemed everyone would rather gawk and follow the film crew around town than shop for yarn.

  Okay, she was cranky. She hadn’t slept well the last two nights, but it had nothing to do with Mark Leland and those pesky sex dreams she’d been having. “Not at all.”

  “What did you say?” Renee asked.

  Great. Now she was muttering under her breath. “Stop whacking pigs and knit something,” Carrie told her.

  With a long suffering eye roll perfected to an art form by sixteen-year-olds the world over, Renee turned off her cell phone and picked up the basket-weave scarf she’d been working on.

  The truth was Carrie was rattled. She thought she’d braced herself for seeing Mark again, but one look in those chocolate brown eyes and she’d known she was in trouble. All the old feelings had come rushing back, stronger than ever. Why? Because she thought she was long over him.

  No love like your first love, Flynn was fond of saying ever since she and Jesse got back together. In fact, it was something irritating that all the ladies of the Sweethearts Knitting Club said from time to time with smug, knowing smiles on their faces.

  Bah-freaking-humbug.

  So much for her goal of getting through the holidays as smoothly as possible. Just as she was about to turn away from the window, she saw a bus pull into the parking lot. She recognized it immediately. It was the vehicle Fact or Fantasy had rented to haul the crew around.

  It wasn’t as if she could miss it. A parade of cars followed behind, including a red convertible, packed with young women holding a banner that read: We Love You Mark.

  What a cluster circus. Carrie borrowed one of Renee’s eye rolls. The bus door opened and Mark got out, along with a willow-branch thin middle-aged woman in stern, red-framed square glasses. They started in her direction, the film crew and entourage following behind.

  For one panicked moment, Carrie thought they were coming into the Yarn Barn, then she realized with relief they were headed to her brother-in-law’s motorcycle shop located on the other side of her building.

  She was not the least bit curious about what was going on over there, but she pressed her nose against the window and craned her neck just in time to see Mark’s backside looking unnecessarily spectacular in a pair of tailored suit pants.

  Humph. She preferred him in jeans. That’s how she remembered him. Rugged, scruff of beard, Levi’s clinging to his hard muscled butt. Not this smooth, shaved, sophisticated man. Columbia and L.A. had remade him into someone she did not recognize. It was inevitable, she supposed. Why then, did she feel like she’d lost something significant?

  You didn’t lose a single thing. Forget him. Sell some yarn.

  Except there were no customers to sell yarn to; they were all over at Jesse’s. A bulky bodyguard positioned himself at the door of the motorcycle shop after the film crew had gone inside. He held up his hand like a stop sign at the spectators mobbing around the front of the store.

  “What’s going on over there?” Renee asked.

  “Who knows? Who cares? Watch the shop, I’ll be right back.”

  “Huh?” Renee blinked.

  But Carrie was already out the back exit and creeping down the alley that connected the Yarn Barn to the motorcycle shop. The wind blew off the lake, whipping through her denim skirt. She shivered.

  What the hell are you doing? Go back to your shop. Forget Mark.

  Quietly, she opened the rear door to Jesse’s store and found herself surrounded by motorcycles in various stages of repair. Jesse not only sold new machines but repaired old ones as well.

  The sound of voices in the showroom drew her in that direction. She crept to the door that led out into the shop and placed her hand on the knob. Flynn hadn’t said a word about Jesse being interviewed on Fact or Fantasy. Maybe her sister didn’t know.

  Carefully, she pushed the door open a crack. The hinges squeaked. She cringed. The last thing she wanted was to get caught spying on Mark. If he caught her spying, he might think she cared. She didn’t care.

  Well, not much.

  But she was curious. Cautiously, she put her eye to the slit and peered into the showroom.

  Jesse was standing at the counter, his back to her, a sprocket in one hand, and a red grease rag in the other. Mark stood in front of Jesse glancing at note cards in his hand. The camera crew was setting up.

  A woman carrying a makeup tray flitted around the two men. “Mr. Calloway,” she said. “Can I put a dusting of powder on your cheeks so you don’t shine on camera?”

  Jesse shifted uncomfortably. “Never wore makeup in my life. Not gonna start now.”

  The makeup girl shot a glance toward Mark.

&n
bsp; “It’s okay, Ladonna,” he assured her. “We can work magic in editing.”

  Ladonna smiled and turned her makeup brush on Mark’s cheeks.

  Carrie opened the door wide enough to ease through. She tiptoed closer, using various shelving to stay hidden.

  “Ready?” a cameraman asked Mark.

  Mark tapped his finger against a tiny microphone pinned to his lapel. “Testing.”

  The sound guy gave him a thumbs-up.

  “Roll it,” The thin woman in the red glasses ordered.

  The camera honed in on Mark, who dissolved into a toothy dimpled grin. The same grin that used to turn Carrie’s knees to rubber. Oh, who the hell was she kidding? Her knees were still wiggly as Jell-O.

  Mark was so cool and self-possessed. Totally in control. He’d always been something of a cocky guy, but this was a whole new level of self-confidence.

  Her heart thumped crazily. He is so out of her league—tall, cutting-edge hairstyle, striking brown eyes. He was perfect for television. No wonder he’d given up on the idea of writing a novel. He’d made choices that led him to the top of his field. He’d changed. While she . . . well, she was still in Twilight wasn’t she? Running a yarn store and living with her father.

  Mark’s voice rang out, authoritative and clear. “Our investigation into the sweetheart legend has led us to an infamous resident of Twilight, Texas. Jesse Calloway was a bad boy incarcerated for ten years. But the love of his high school sweetheart, Flynn MacGregor, tamed his wild ways.”

  Jesse’s scowl deepened. “That’s not how the story goes.”

  Mark made a cutting motion with his hand across his neck. “We talked about this, Jesse. Casting you as the tamed outlaw is the angle we’re pursuing. It’s all about that marketing hook. Redeemed by love. That’s the story.”

  “I was wrongly imprisoned for a crime I didn’t commit,” Jesse said. “Are you gonna mention that?”

  Her brother-in-law’s life had been hard indeed. Carrie felt sorry for Jesse and wondered why he was doing this interview.

  “We’ll mention that in the wrap-up, but for the thrust of the story we’re going with the outlaw tamed,” Mark said.

  “I don’t think I want to do this after all,” Jesse grumbled.

  “If you don’t complete the interview, Mr. Calloway,” the woman in the red glasses said in her rapid-fire East-Coast staccato, “you won’t get the thousand dollars.”

  Ah, that explained why Jesse was doing this. He was getting paid for his story. More money for his growing family.

  The front door opened, and the bodyguard ushered Flynn in while blocking the chattering hoard outside the store. Her sister’s normally curly brown hair had been pulled into a French braid. She looked beautiful, a glowing mother-to-be awaiting the birth of her first child.

  Carrie sidled around the rack of tires for a better look, ducking behind a cardboard Santa and its tray of holiday-sale wrenches.

  No one noticed her, so she edged even closer.

  “I’m so sorry I’m late,” Flynn said.

  “No problem. We’re just glad you could make it. What’s the story of the town’s most famous lovebirds if only one of the birds ends up on camera,” said the uber-thin woman. She held out her hand to Flynn. “I’m Iris Tobin, the director of Fact or Fantasy.”

  “Nice to meet you.” Flynn smiled.

  “When’s the little one due?” Iris asked.

  “Christmas Eve.”

  “Oh, seriously? That’s so adorable. We must include pictures of the baby in a little epilogue when this episode airs early next year.”

  “We’ll see.” Flynn pursed her lips.

  Her sister was a people-pleaser, but she was also cautious. Carrie admired her for not immediately agreeing to Iris’s request to film the baby.

  “Do you know what you’re having?” Iris asked.

  Flynn shook her head. “We wanted to be surprised.”

  The makeup artist bustled around Flynn, touching up her face.

  A few minutes later, they started filming again. Mark was very much in control as he coaxed Flynn and Jesse into the story of their romance.

  It was a touching tale, one that epitomized the town legend. As long as Mark stuck to couples like Flynn and Jesse, the sweetheart legend would bear itself out, and Twilight’s reputation would be safe. But this show challenged popular myths. Sooner or later, someone was bound to unearth her connection to Mark and bust the sweetheart myth wide open. So far everyone had been keeping quiet about their relationship, but of course it was to the town’s best interest for their failed love affair to be kept under wraps.

  Carrie anxiously gnawed her thumbnail. It was unnerving to think that the town’s fate weighed on her shoulders. But he had promised not to reveal their past relationship. Would he keep his promise? Once upon a time, his word had been golden. But now? Who knew? He’d changed so much.

  She leaned forward, her gaze trained on Mark. He was impressive. Even in his polished persona, he exuded a raw magnetism that was impossible to deny. Honestly, she was taken aback by how handsome he’d become. He’d been good-looking before, but now he was breathtaking. Damn him.

  Mesmerized by her former husband’s accomplished performance, she didn’t notice at first that the cardboard Santa had started swaying. When she realized what was happening, she put out a hand to steady the wavering display. Santa was lighter than she anticipated, the metal tray of wrenches balanced on his extended cardboard hands heavier than they should have been. Instead of helping things, her touch pushed Santa over the edge.

  Carrie felt him slipping away. She scrambled, actively grabbing for the toppling effigy. Making noise. Drawing attention. Crap! Santa bucked backward. Wrenches flew into the air, clattering to the ground around her.

  Iris Tobin yelled at her. “Who are you? Get out of here immediately. This is a closed shoot.”

  “Um . . . I . . .” Chagrinned, Carrie dropped to her knees and started picking up the scattered wrenches, unable to look at anyone. Way to go, MacGregor.

  “Stop that. Leave the mess. Get out. Who left the back door unlocked?” Iris Tobin snapped. “Ladonna, you were supposed to make sure the back door was locked. We can’t have gawkers stumbling around and ruining our shoot.”

  “Mellow out, Iris,” Mark said, a sharp edge in his voice. “You’re acting like a bitch.”

  The director glared, nostrils flaring and she clapped her hands. “Olig!” She motioned for the bodyguard. “Escort this person out.”

  Carrie stood, preparing to run before the hulking bodyguard could get to her, cheeks blazing a hundred and twenty degrees worth of shame. Why, oh why hadn’t she stayed put in the Yarn Barn?

  Mark stepped between Carrie and Iris. “She stays,” he said, his tone low and dangerous. “This is Flynn’s sister, Carrie. She owns the yarn store next door.”

  “What? Are we inviting in everyone’s family now?” Iris groused. “Should I call my mother? Send her a plane ticket?”

  Mark ignored her sarcasm.

  “I’m going,” Carrie said. “I shouldn’t have been here.”

  “Well what do you know?” Iris said. “We agree on something.”

  Mark reached out, took her hand. Carrie was aware that everyone was watching them. Could they see how his touch unraveled her? Did it show on her face that her stomach was in tumult and her heart, oh her stupid heart, was melting?

  “You belong here,” he said firmly and threw Iris a don’t-make-an-issue-of-this glare. Still holding onto Carrie’s hand, he took her behind the counter, retrieved a stool and carried it to one side of the cameras. “You can sit here.”

  This was a bad idea. She wished she could slink off, but now that he’d made a big deal of it she had to stay. She perched on the stool. Mark gave her shoulder a squeeze, then moved back to take his place in front of the camera. J
esse smiled at her. Flynn gave her a little wave.

  Unhappy Iris Tobin folded her arms over her chest. “Places everyone. Let’s start again from the top.”

  The crew zipped about, doing their jobs.

  Across the room Mark’s eyes met her gaze. No, not just met hers. His gaze devoured her. When he gave her a conspiratorial wink, all the air rushed from her lungs and caused her nipples to bead. What was he doing? Was he trying to rattle her? And why was her shoulder still tingling from where he’d touched it?

  Unable to fight back against his long, lingering stare, she clenched her eyes closed, hauled in a deep slow breath as a stunning realization smacked her.

  Dammit. No matter how much she wished it was not true, she was still crazy about the man.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  “This is no good,” Iris said on the day before Thanksgiving as she and Mark sat in his suite at The Merry Cherub reviewing the footage they’d shot so far. Delicious smells from the kitchen of the B&B drifted upstairs—apples, cinnamon, cornbread, pumpkin, nutmeg.

  The rest of the crew had left, taking the bus back to DFW Airport to catch flights home for the holiday. They would all be back by Monday to continue shooting the “Romance of First Love” episode.

  Iris stubbed out her cigarette in a china saucer that Jenny had brought on a tray with tea and cookies to the suite, and got to her feet.

  “What do you mean no good? There are some wonderful stories here. Heartwarming. Touching.” Mark waved away the smoke. “There’s the story of Patsy and Hondo, loving each other since they were teens and finally just now getting married. There’s the story of Sarah and Travis Walker, two polar opposites no one ever thought would end up together. There’s Jesse and Flynn, whose love withstood Jesse’s ten-year incarceration. There’s Caitlyn Marsh and Gideon Garza. Not even death could keep them apart.”

  “Fluff. Feel-good pap.” Iris shook her head.

  Personally, he thought the interviews were the best work of his career. He was smooth on camera. His jokes were witty. He’d been prepping for this big break his entire life. Well, that wasn’t entirely true. Initially, he’d wanted to be a journalist by day, a novelist by night, but with technology changing the landscape of journalism, his college advisors had quickly steered him toward television and away from print journalism.