A Fool's Gold Christmas (Fool's Gold #9.5)

“Stryker brothers,” he called. “Come with me to unload the truck. Everyone else, pick a set and go stand by it. Make sure you divide yourselves evenly.”


Five other guys went with Dante and her brothers. By the time they’d returned, there were at least twenty more people there to help. The hallway was loud and crowded. While a few people had collected by sets, most were just laughing and talking. They’d moved from controlled chaos to a party.

“How do you want to handle this?” Dante asked. He had a paint can in each hand.

Patience stood with her clipboard but didn’t look as if she was going to take charge. Evie knew she was ultimately responsible for the project. What was that old saying? An embarrassment of riches. She needed to get over it, she told herself.

She walked over to a folding chair and climbed onto the seat. Her injured leg protested slightly, but she ignored the twinge and waited as people turned toward her and grew quiet.

Everyone was staring at her, she thought, feeling herself flush. She knew less than a third of the adults in the room. The only time she’d ever been anything close to a leader was while she was teaching. Still, the performance was her responsibility, and that made the sets her problem.

“I’d like to thank everyone for taking time out of your Saturday to come here and help. I know the holidays are especially busy, so your generosity is all the more appreciated. For those of you who arrived in the past fifteen minutes, we’re asking everyone to gather around the set you want to work on.”

She pointed to the chronological beginning of the story. “I’ll walk down the line and tell you what I would like done. The supplies will be on those tables at the end. We may have to share cans of paint and brushes.”

“I brought tools,” a man called. “Three toolboxes, nails, screws, extra lumber.”

“Thank you.” Evie smiled at the crowd. “You’re all fantastic for coming out here today. I hope you’ll enjoy our performance.”

“We always love the show,” a woman said.

Everyone applauded and Evie stepped down.

She walked over to the first set. Patience walked with her.

“I’ll take notes,” the other woman said. “So we can keep track of what’s going to be done.”

“Thank you.”

One of the men standing by the first set, a good-looking blond guy with an easy smile, pointed to the back of the tall trees.

“The supports are all busted,” he said. “We should replace them while we’re painting. It won’t take long and Ethan is here to give us novices advice.”

Evie cleared her throat. “Ethan?”

“The guy who said he had tools.”

A pretty, obviously pregnant woman with brown hair joined the man. “Josh, start with the basics.” She smiled at Evie. “I’m Charity Golden. This is my husband, Josh. Ethan Hendrix is a local contractor.”

“Thanks for coming.”

“Oh, we love helping out. This is a fun project. Our daughter is still too tiny to be involved in anything, so we’re practicing for when she’s older.”

Josh leaned over and patted his wife’s tummy. “And he.”

Charity rolled her eyes. “Yes, this one is a boy and Josh is too proud for words.” But there was love in her voice as she spoke, and the couple shared a look that spoke of devotion and caring.

Evie went over the rest of the repairs and agreed that, yes, this was a good time to deal with the trees.

She and Patience went down the line. Her brothers and Dante had claimed the throne where the Winter King sat. She looked at the four of them. “Tell me you know what you’re doing.”

Clay pressed a hand to his chest. “Mortal blow. Come on, sis, we’re good. Dante and Rafe have both done construction, and Shane and I will follow their instructions.”

She sighed. “Fine, but no fighting.”

By eight-thirty, everyone was hard at work. She walked up and down the line, pleased with how quickly things were progressing. Close to nine, a tall, dark-haired man walked into the warehouse. He had as many muscles as Wolverine and looked nearly as dangerous. He glanced around at everyone working, caught sight of Evie and headed directly for her.

“I’m Gideon,” he told her, his low voice rubbing against her skin like velvet. Or maybe chocolate.

“Okay,” she said, wanting to get him to speak again. A voice like that was magic. “I’m Evie.”

His dark eyes glinted with amusement but his mouth didn’t smile. “I own both radio stations here in town.”

“That’s nice.”

Patience cleared her throat and leaned close. “He’s, ah, doing the narration for the performance.”

Evie looked back at him. “Oh. Gideon. We’ve emailed.” Had she known what his voice sounded like, she would have asked that they speak on the phone instead of meeting in person. “Nice to meet you.”

They shook hands.

“I’ve watched the performances on DVD,” he said. “And I went over the script. I thought about making a few changes.” He handed her several sheets of paper. “To smooth things out and make the story flow better.”