Her Holiday Family. Ruth Logan Herne

      Tina was immune.

       You want to be immune, but face it, darling. Damp palms say something else entirely.

      She shushed the internal warning, but when she leaned in to show Max how to engage cash register functions, the scent of him made her long to draw closer.

      She didn’t. She ignored the fact that he smelled of sandalwood and soap and total guy, and that the flash of his smile brightened a room.

      She didn’t need any rooms brightened, thank you. A few LED lightbulbs took care of that in a cost-effective way.

      Over the years, she’d shrugged off her teenage attraction to Max as silly adolescent stuff. But today, seeing the straightforward warmth of the hardened but humorous man he’d become?

      That might be tough to resist.

      Fortunately Tina wasn’t in the market for anything in Kirkwood Lake these days. Least of all another broken heart. Been there, done that. Overrated.

      She showed him through the layout of the store. His parents had done a complete remodel four years previous, making Max’s memories obsolete, and the first thing he noted out loud were the rotational seasonal displays set at four separate locations. “I expect this was my mother’s idea.”

      Tina nodded as she unlocked the front door and officially opened the story for business. “She likes to go to regional conferences that teach how to build sales while keeping overhead in check.”

      “Always a trick in retail.” Max nodded to the first customer in the door, a woman, carrying an older-model chain saw that had seen better days.

      “Is Earl here yet?” The look she gave Tina and Max said she didn’t put much trust in their abilities.

      “No, ma’am,” Max told her. “Not ’til noon. But maybe I can help?”

      She looked at him, really looked, then formed her mouth into a grim line. “Maxwell Campbell, I do believe you still owe me for some flowers that went missing from my garden about twelve years back. Give or take a summer or two.”

      Max’s grimace said his memory clicked to a younger version of the woman before him. “You’re absolutely correct, Mrs. Hyatt. Those would be red roses and I believe they found their way over to Sophie Benedict’s house. I’ll be happy to make that up to you now with my apologies for the delay. And ask your forgiveness, of course.”

      The look she settled on him said maybe that was okay, and maybe it wasn’t. “How long have you served our country, young man?”

      “Over a decade.”

      Her mouth softened. Her shoulders relaxed. “I’d say we’re more than even.” She clapped a hand to his shoulder, hometown pride showing in her eyes, her smile. “Welcome home, Max. I expect your parents are most pleased to have you here, and just in time to share the holidays together.”

      “Yes, ma’am. My mom goes a little bit crazy over Thanksgiving and Christmas, that’s for sure. And about that saw?” He dropped his gaze to the chain saw in her arms.

      Her face said she was inclined to wait until Earl’s arrival nearly three hours later.

      “If you bring it to Dad’s tool bench, I’d be glad to have a look.”

      “If you think you can.” She didn’t try to mask the dubious note in her voice. “It’s been a long time since you’ve worked with your dad.”

      “True.” He led the way to Charlie’s well-lit bench and table at the back corner, a popular gathering place for small-town talk and broken tools. “But I remember a thing or two. And working for Uncle Sam taught me a few new tricks. Let’s see what’s going on.” He examined the pieces, then nodded. “We’ve got a bad clutch. Tina, does Dad carry parts for all models in the back or just current ones?”

      His quiet confidence in his abilities lightened Tina’s angst. Working for the Campbells helped them and her, but with Charlie out of commission and Earl on limited hours, she’d been fielding a lot of questions with few answers the past two weeks. Maybe having Max around wouldn’t be so bad, not if he could actually make sense out of the more difficult hardware inquiries. “I’ll check and see. If we have to order it, we won’t get it until next Tuesday, Mrs. Hyatt. Is that all right?”

      “Tuesday’s fine with me. Then would you be able to fix it right away?” she wondered. She hesitated, looking a little uncomfortable, then explained, “I hate to push, knowing what’s going on with your dad and all, but I promised my husband I’d get this fixed before wood-cutting season. Once the cold hits, he’ll take to the woods for next year’s heating supply, but he can’t cut without his saw. And with the Festival of Lights coming up, I’m going to have my hands full. I expect you’re taking that over for your father, as well?”

      Max sent a blank look from her to Tina and back. “Festival of Lights? I’m not following you.”

      “The annual Christmas lighting event we’ve been doing for years,” Mrs. Hyatt replied. “This year it’s the final big event of our bicentennial celebration,” she continued. “Your dad heads up the committee, we use the funds raised from the park drive-through to support the women’s shelter in Clearwater, and Tina and I handle the food venues with a bunch of volunteers. That money helps stock food pantries all year long. Joe Burns is helping.” She ticked off her fingers, listing familiar names. “The Radcliffes, Sawyers and Morgans are all on board, as well. We’ve got everything planned out, of course, because it starts soon, but no one knows how to do lighting grids as well as Charlie Campbell.”

      * * *

      One phrase stood out.

      The Sawyers. Pete’s family, Tina’s neighbors on Upper Lake Road. Pete used to love ditching both his little sister, Sherrie, and Tina. He and Max would take their small boat out and go fishing or girl-watching. When they were young, fishing took precedence. By the time they finished high school?

      Partying had replaced fishing for Pete.

      Regret speared Max. He shelved it purposely. He’d come back to help and make amends. Right now, helping took precedence, even if it meant coming face-to-face with Pete’s family sooner rather than later.

      Business owners were taking advantage of today’s nice weather to hang festive garland. Town crews had manned a cherry-picker truck to string lights through Main Street trees, and decorated wreaths marked each old-fashioned light pole. Like it or not they were two weeks shy of Thanksgiving and the town was knee-deep in a project that depended on Charlie’s calm help and expertise.

      “I’ll talk to my dad and see what I can do to help. We’ll cover it, Mrs. Hyatt. No worries.”

      Her sigh of relief said he’d answered correctly. “And you’re okay with me coming by next Wednesday to pick up the saw?”

      “I’ll put the part in as soon as it arrives,” Max promised. “If there’s any delay, we’ll give you a call.”

      “That would be wonderful.” She watched as he filled out a tag with her name, gave him her phone number, then smiled, more relaxed than when she came into the store. “I expect you’ll both be at the final committee meeting Wednesday night?”

      Special ops had prepared Max to tack with the prevailing wind, no matter what the mission. “Absolutely. When and where?”

      “We used to have them at my café.” The resignation in Tina’s tone said her loss rubbed raw. “But Carmen Bianchi said we could meet in her apartment behind Vintage Place instead. Seven o’clock.”

      “I’ll be there,” Max promised. “And we’ll be ready to implement Dad’s action plan, Mrs. Hyatt.”

      “Good!” Her smile said his confidence appeased her concerns. Which meant he hadn’t lost his touch, but if he was coming face-to-face with the Sawyers in a few days, and expected to run this light show thing, he needed to get his