Christmas on 4th Street (Fool's Gold #12.5)

She smiled up at him. “You’re not so tough. You pretend you’re all broody and wounded but you’re really a sweet kind of guy.”


He wanted to tell her not to believe in him, that he wasn’t a good risk. He didn’t want to hurt her, but he couldn’t have her faith. But those were words for another time, he thought, brushing his mouth against hers. A time when it wasn’t snowing on a beautiful night a few weeks before Christmas.

* * *

Gabriel walked through the cold night, grateful that the temperature would take care of any lingering desire. He’d done the gentlemanly thing—he’d walked Noelle home and left her on her doorstep without even hinting how much he wanted to go inside.

He’d read the indecision in her eyes and had known he could have easily convinced her. A few kisses and she would have started to melt. But as much as he wanted her, he needed her to be sure. To understand what the consequences would be.

A conscience was a giant pain in the ass, he thought as he turned the corner. Well, not his ass, exactly.

“Hello, Gabriel.”

An older woman appeared at his side. He would have sworn there was no one else out on this snowy night. Not this late. The bustling city tended to shut down right around nine.

The woman had white curly hair and deep blue eyes. She had to be in her sixties, but she stood straight and strong. He’d seen her before, but couldn’t remember where.

“Ma’am,” he said, no longer surprised people he’d never met knew who he was.

“I’m Mayor Marsha Tilson,” she said with a smile. “I’m glad I ran into you. I’ve been wanting to speak to you.”

She motioned to a business across the street. He peered through the snow and saw a sign that read Jo’s Bar.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” she said, already stepping off the curb. “Irish coffee,” she added with a laugh. “Nobody makes it better than Jo.”

Somehow he found himself following the woman. He told himself to stop, that he had no business going into a bar with a woman thirty years older than him. He remembered the butt pat from the other day and wondered if he was about to get into an even more awkward situation. But somehow he kept moving along at her side, answering polite questions about how he enjoyed the town.

When they stepped inside, he found he was in the strangest bar he’d ever seen. The walls were a pale purple-blue color and the big TVs had on what looked a lot like overweight people exercising on treadmills. Was this some sports show he’d missed while he’d been gone?

The mayor led him to a table in the corner. “Irish coffees, please, Jo,” she called as she pulled out a chair.

“You got it, Mayor Marsha.” The woman behind the bar chuckled. “Who are you torturing tonight?”

“Jo, I never torture anyone. You know that.”

“Sure you don’t.”

“This is Dr. Gabriel Boylan. Gideon’s brother.”

“Welcome,” Jo told him. “Don’t bother fighting her. It never works. It’s like quicksand. Relax and you’ll be fine. Struggle and you’ll end up sinking in deeper.”

The mayor draped her heavy coat over an empty chair and sat down. She wore a pale blue suit and pearls. “Jo has an imagination.”

Gabriel nodded even as he wondered if Jo was the one telling the truth. He shrugged out of his jacket, then sat across from the mayor.

She set her hands on the table and laced her fingers together. “You’re here through the holidays.”

He wasn’t sure if she was asking or telling, but he nodded anyway.

“You’re working for Noelle at The Christmas Attic. That must be a change.”

“It is.”

“Your military service must be satisfying, but extremely difficult. There are demands on the medical personnel. We talk about the PTSD the returning soldiers deal with, as we should. But you and those like you have your own internal struggles.”

“Compassion fatigue,” he said flatly.

“Yes. I’ve read about it. What you see, what you do, drains the soul. I hope you will find your stay here healing.” She smiled gently. “I wouldn’t presume to know what you’ve been through, Gabriel, but if you need someone to talk to, I have names.”

“I’m okay.”

She studied him for a second. “I think you aren’t just yet, but you will be.”

Jo appeared with their coffees. The mugs were tall and slender and made of glass. Whipped cream floated on the top. She set down the drinks. “I was heavy-handed with the whiskey.”

The mayor sighed. “You always were a good girl, Jo.”

Jo laughed. “That’s me. The best of the best.”

When she’d left, Mayor Marsha raised her mug. “To the holidays and being with those we love.”

He touched his glass to hers. “To family.”

“I have a beautiful granddaughter and two great-grandchildren,” she said. “And a grandson-in-law. I’m blessed. I understand your family is here now.”

“They’re visiting for the holidays.”