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TR2

I love the day after Christmas even more than the holiday itself—as far as the gifts are con-cerned. I know the true meaning of Christmas—the importance of family and tradition andthe birth of Jesus. Trust me, I get it, and it means a lot to me.

But all of those sales the next day? It’s like a treasure hunt. As far as I’m concerned, it’seven better than Black Friday. So the morning after the big day, I loaded up the gifts I didn’twant (sorry Aunt Fay, I’ve told you I don’t wear turtlenecks, especially not with penguins onthem), wrapped a scarf around my neck, and trudged out into the snow, ready for battle. Iknow I’m not the only post-holiday warrior—things can get ugly at a seventy-five-percent-off sale. I was properly caffeinated, dressed for battle, and ready to rumble for marked-downholiday merchandise.

Bargain For Love

I drove to the store early, right afterit opened. The parking lot waspacked, and not surprisingly, thereturns line was already snakingthrough the store. No problem,though. I was expecting it. So I got inline, waiting to return my stuff, getstore credit, and then scour theshelves for bargains. My heart wasactually beating quickly just thinkingabout it. Pathetic, I know.

I smiled at the guy who scooted inline behind me. I looked at the pack-ages he held against his chest. “So Itake it you’re not a fan of theSnuggie?” I asked.

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, sure Iam—just not four of them. I’m hardto buy for, apparently.”

I laughed. “You must not have anyhobbies or collections then.”

He ran a hand through his mussedup hair. He must have just gotten outof bed. He looked really cute,though—brown wavy hair and paleblue eyes. He frowned. “I guess Idon’t have any hobbies these days. Iused to run, but I don’t have the timefor that anymore. Work keeps mepretty busy. But how did you know?”

“Simple. Because you would havebeen returning novelty golf items ifyou were a golfer, or a 365 days oftennis calendar or something. Oncepeople know you have a hobby orcollection, you’re toast. I had to sendout an email informing my friendsand family that I was no longer col-lecting unicorns, and in fact, hadstopped collecting them when I wastwelve. Once people know you col-lect something, forget it. You’redoomed to get frogs or ducks or catfigurines for the rest of your life.”

He laughed. “Good to know. Iwon’t start collecting anything.”

I raised an eyebrow, feeling bold.“And you must not have a girlfriendor a wife.”

He rubbed his stubbly chin. “Whydo you say that?”

“Because she would have volun-teered to bring your stuff back foryou so she could go shopping.”

He frowned a little. “Actually, I amseeing someone, but she hatesshopping. . .”

“A woman who hates shopping?Weird,” I said, with a little bit ofregret because Mr. Snuggie wascute. Like snuggle-under-the-Snuggie-together kind of cute. “I’mJoy.” I held out my hand.

“I’m Landon, and I should haveknown better than to come heretoday. But I couldn’t stand to look atthese things for another minute.” Helooked around the store wearily.

“Oh, you picked the best day tocome here. All those sales? In fact,I’m going to finish my Christmasshopping today.” I crossed my arms,very satisfied with myself. I felt ener-gized, ready to go.

He scrunched his eyebrowstogether. “What do you mean?Christmas is over.”

I nodded. “True, but I haven’t visit-ed all my aunts and friends and theirlittle kiddos yet. So, they’ll neverknow I’m scooping up theirChristmas gifts today at a super-bar-gain. I mean, what’s the difference ifI bought the bath and body set twoweeks ago for twenty dollars, or if Ibuy it today for five?”

He nodded appreciatively. “I neverthought of that. You’re right. I have abunch of people I haven’t seen forthe holidays yet and could pick a fewgifts up for them. Where are thesemythical bargains?”

I pointed to the back of the store.“I’ll show you myself after we returnour stuff. I’ll give you a crash coursein Joy’s Bargain Shopping 101, ifyou want.”

“Okay. You’re on,” he said.

I got my store credit for fifty-threedollars and seventy-eight cents andwaited for Landon, now Snuggie freeand ready to roll. “Okay, rule numberone. You have to grab a cart, even ifyou think you’re not going to buymuch, because you never knowwhat you’re going to find. One year, Ifound gourmet fondue pots for nine-ty percent off. Can you imagine if Ihad to go back for a cart? Someoneelse would have gotten them.”

His eyes widened. “They markthings off ninety percent?”

“Sometimes, if you’ve got somereally good shopping karma goingon. They were three-ninety each, Ibought ten of them, and half myChristmas shopping was done forthe next year. Helps to have a lot ofstorage at home, by the way.” Ishook a cart loose from the front ofthe store. “Now, if you’re shoppingon Black Friday, you better grab oneof these in the parking lot, becausechances are they’re all being used.”

“Black Friday, that’s the day after

Thanksgiving, right?” he asked.I grabbed his arm. “You’re kidding,

right?”A smile split his face. “Yeah, I am.

Even I’ve heard about Black Friday.”Landon grabbed a cart and followedme. “I feel like I should be writing thisall down.”

I laughed. “Really, I should write abook—then I wouldn’t have to bar-gain shop with all that money, right?”Although I think I’d still bargain, evenif I were a billionaire. It’s exciting tosee what kinds of deals I can score.“Okay, back to business. Now,sometimes having a cart will slowyou down, especially if the aisles arepacked with other carts, so some-times it’s good to shop with a friendwho can guard the cart while yousqueeze through the crowds to grabyour loot. Then you take turns.”

“Shop with a buddy.” He frowned.“Now, that might be a tough sell forthe guys I know.”

I laughed and thought, Wow, funnyand cute. What a keeper if not for thepesky girlfriend problem. We cruisedback toward the seasonal section.“Here’s another good tip. If you seesomething you like, grab it. Don’tthink about it. You can always put itback. But if you walk away from it,chances are someone else will takeit.”

Landon swallowed hard and westopped in front of the five aisles ofmarked down holiday goodies.People were swarming the aisles,some already wheeling away over-flowing carts. “I’m scared,” he said.

I laughed. “I won’t let you get hurt.Who are you shopping for?”

He scratched his head, still scop-ing out the situation. “I have a coupleof dinner parties to go to, and I didn’tbuy anything for my uncle Jerry yet.And I always like giving my nieces agift here and there.”

“Good. Look for ornaments orfancy holders for the wine bottles forthose dinner parties, bath stuff orhair accessories for the girls, and ifyou see solid red wrapping paper,grab it. You can use that for anyoccasion.”

He took a deep breath and nod-ded.

“Ready to go in?” I asked.“Ready.”“Oh, one more thing.”“What?” TR

3VISIT US ONLINE: www.truesonline.com

(Continued on page 6)

DECEMBER 2009 Vol. 149 No.12

“Wanna stay and watch a movie? Ithink there are a couple good flickson cable tonight.” He put a movie onand got us each a glass of wine. Thistime when he sat down, it was rightnext to me.

I took a long sip of my wine, hop-ing to gather up a bit of courage. Iset it down and leaned toward him.“I don’t really want to watch amovie,” I whispered.

He set his drink down, and his lipsmet mine. A shiver that had nothingto do with the cold night racedthrough me. Remaining on thecouch, his hands tangled throughmy hair and he pulled me on top ofhim.

TRUE ROMANCE (ISSN 0199-0020) is published monthly by DorchesterMedia, LLC. Executive, Advertising and Editorial Offices are located at 200Madison Avenue, Suite 2000, New York, NY 10016.; phone: (212) 725-8811.l Subscription rates: US and Possessions: One year, $24.00; two years, $29.94.Canada and all other countries add $10.00 per year for postage. l Back Issues:Cover price plus $2.00 shipping and handling for each copy. Make checkspayable to Dorchester Media and send to TRUE ROMANCE, DorchesterMedia, 200 Madison Avenue, Suite 2000, New York, NY 10016.. lSubscription Inquiries, New Subscriptions or Renewals: TRUE ROMANCE, POBox 2107, Harlan, IA 51593. l Change of Address: Six weeks’ notice essential;send old as well as new address to TRUE ROMANCE, PO Box 2107, Harlan, IA51593. Or, if you prefer, call this TOLL FREE number: (800) 666-8783. l POST-MASTER: Send address changes to TRUE ROMANCE, PO Box 2107, Harlan,IA 51593. Foreign editions are handled through the International Division ofDorchester Media, LLC, 200 Madison Avenue, Suite 2000, New York, NY10016.. l Periodical postage paid at New York, NY and at additional mailingoffices. l Canadian Second Class Postage Agreement #451355 paid at London,Ontario, Canada. l Copyright© by Dorchester Media, LLC, 2004. All rightsreserved. Title TRUE ROMANCE is a registered trademark in the United Statesand Canada. l Manuscripts and photographs: All manuscripts and pho-tographs will be carefully considered, but publisher cannot be responsible forloss or damage. It is advisable to keep a duplicate copy for your records. Onlythose manuscripts and photographs accompanied by a stamped, self-addressed return envelope with sufficient postage will be returned. l Names ofreal persons or actual business firms are never used in this magazine except inthose stories accompanied by the author’s name. If the names of actual per-sons appear, it is a matter of coincidence. All photographs posed by profes-sional models unless otherwise noted. l TRUE ROMANCE does not knowinglyaccept deceptive or misleading advertising. l Website: www.truero-mancemag.com Printed in USA

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44MacBride put out his hand,and despite the fact I onlywanted to be away from theman with whom I had man-aged to make a fool of myselfall day long, I shook it. Whenour palms touched, a tingle ofelectricity passed from him tome. Though I shake manyhands a day while playing outmy role as an attorney, I hadnever experienced anythingquite like the tiny current thathad just rushed from my palmall the way down to my stom-ach.

20

EightSaucyStories!

2 Bargain For Love8 Beating the Winter Blues

12 Snowboard Baby20 Winter Love Affair24 Poetry28 The Perfect Tree36 Christmas Ties40 Tree Shopping Tips43 Happily Ever After44 Holidays in Plaid48 Holiday Gift Guide52 Rocky Mountain

Christmas62 The D Files

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TR4

“Keep an eye on your cart. Peoplewill totally pluck the good stuff out ifyou’re not looking,” I warned.

“Come on, you’re kidding.” Hegave me a funny look.

I held up one hand, palm facingoutward. “Honest to God. Now let’sgo.”

We pushed in with our carts, and Ireached out and plucked a pair offleece pj’s from a shelf without stop-ping. We maneuvered our way intothe first aisle. “Okay, here’s the bathand body stuff. These are great giftsfor birthdays for the women in yourlife. Just hide it from your girlfriendso she doesn’t know what you reallypaid.” I grabbed five baskets filledwith creams and soaps beforeLandon could register what I wassaying. “Move it or lose it, Landon.”

He plucked two baskets from theshelf and dropped them in his cart.

I pointed behind him. “And we’vegot cute little baskets of girls’ hairsupplies over here. Perfect for yournieces.” I handed him two andgrabbed a few for myself.

“So, how much will these be afterthe seventy-five percent off?” heasked, looking at the fifteen dollarprice tag, doing the mental math.

“Easy, three-seventy-five,” Iquickly answered. “If it’s seventy-five percent off, divide the originalprice in half, then in half again. So fif-teen would be three-seventy-five.Thirty would be seven-fifty. Fifty per-cent off is easy enough, and if you’relucky enough to find anything ninetypercent off, just grab it. But if youreally want to know how much itcosts, just take a zero off the end ofthe price. A fifty dollar item would befive bucks.”

He stood frozen, taking it all in. “Iguess you have done this a fewtimes.”

I shrugged and handed him astuffed cat holding a box of earrings.“Perfect for the nieces on Valentine’sDay.”

“Thanks,” he said, setting it in hiscart.

“Looks like aisle three has theentertaining supplies. You could findsome stuff for your dinner partiesover there.” I led him over to aislethree and wondered if Landon

thought I was a cheapskate. Maybe Ishouldn’t let major date material seethis side of me so soon. But thenagain, I reminded myself, he’s not onthe market, so no worries. I took offmy coat and tossed it in the cart. Itwas hard to maneuver in a tiny aisle,plus I was working up a sweat.

We rolled our carts into the enter-tainment aisle, pushing past othersshoppers—nice and polite, no mallrage or anything, but you’ve got tobe assertive. I saw a cute set ofcoasters, the kind you add your ownphotos to, and went to grab them,but someone snatched them off theshelf before I could get to them.Huh?—That hardly ever happens tome. I looked up, a little ticked. I’dbeen wanting photo coasters.

Landon held them up in triumph.My jaw dropped, and I wagged a

finger at him. “You catch on quick.”“I have a good teacher.” He hand-

ed them to me.I held my hands up. “No way.

Those are yours. Well done.”One side of his mouth quirked up

and he placed them in his cart.We made our way through the

aisles, laughing and joking andscooping up bargains. After an hourof shopping, we headed for thecheckout lines. My cart was over-flowing with stuff, and Landon had agood pile in his. The lines were longto check out, but you’ve gottaexpect that kind of thing. I pulled outa granola bar and offered one toLandon. “You’ve got to be preparedfor long lines, hunger, and dehydra-tion on your shopping expeditions.”

He laughed. “No, I’m good. I thinkI’m going to grab some lunch afterthis. Would you like to join me? I’dlove to thank you for your on-the-spot bargain shopping education.”

I smiled and dropped my granolabar back in my purse. “I’d love to.”

My total bill was only sixty-eightbucks. Landon only had to fork overforty-two smackeroos, and hechecked his receipt three times tomake sure it was right.

We dropped our goodies in ourcars and planned to meet at arestaurant down the street for lunch.

I pulled my hair out of my efficientshopper’s ponytail and dabbed on alittle lip-gloss. It figures that I’d meeta cute guy while I was scrounging fordeals in comfortable but not cuteclothes, no makeup, and a totally

uninspired ‘do. But oh well, we weregoing to lunch, weren’t we?

Landon was waiting for me by thehostess station, and we were quicklyseated.

“So, you don’t think I’m a totalnut?” I asked him. “It’s kind of like asport for me, really. I like to bringhome my spoils and show them offto my mother when she visits.Sometimes I let her buy stuff fromme.”

He laughed. “You’re not nuts,you’re smart.”

“Gotta do what you gotta do in thiseconomy, right?”

“Absolutely. I sell insurance. Folksare dropping policies, scaling back.”He let out a breath.

“I bartend while I’m finishing upmy graduate degree, and let me tellyou, the tips ain’t what they used tobe.” I looked up into his beautifulblue eyes and suddenly felt a littleshy. That whole shopping extrava-ganza had felt pretty intimate in theafterglow.

“Where do you bartend?”“Over at McAllister’s.”“Oh yeah. I know where that is.

Never been there though.”Nope, you haven’t, because I

would have remembered you.“Well, lunch is on me today, Joy.

You saved me a bundle. From thisday forth, I am a bargain hunter.” Heraised his glass in a toast, and so didI.

I scanned the menu and checkedout the two for ten-dollar lunch spe-cials. I pointed it out to Landon.

“That’s a good deal, I’ll give youthat. But get whatever you want. I’min the mood for a big juicy burger. Iworked up quite an appetite backthere.”

We finished lunch and I was sadfor the day’s adventure to come toan end.

“So are you going to show yourgirlfriend your shopping trophies, orkeep it a secret?” I tried not to soundtoo put out.

He blew out his breath. “I guess I’llshow her. There’s a whole discount-ed world out there for us to discov-er.”

“Lucky girl,” I said. And I meant it.Landon was a catch—just not mycatch. Like the best bargain in thestore that someone else snatchedfrom under you. Worse even than

TR6

Bargain For Love(Continued from page 3)

losing those photo coasters.

I had a blast the next week visitingmy cousin Tanya. Her three girlseach got their very own bath andbody set. They argued over whowould take a bath first to use them.And it was only four o’clock.

“The girls always love your gifts.You’re too generous,” Tanya toldme.

I waved her off; if only she knewthe three sets hadn’t cost me asmuch as one set would have beforeChristmas. I wondered how Landonhad fared with his presents. I’d hadfun with him that day.

I had other relatives to visit andparties to attend that week afterChristmas with my discount goodiesin tow, and before I knew it, it wasNew Year’s Eve—fun for everyonebut the holiday working stiffs, likebartenders.

I always got gussied up on NewYear’s Eve, even if I was working. Islipped on my sparkly silver tank topthat I’d gotten for six bucks atMacy’s, originally fifty-two dollars,thank you very much. I piled my curlybrown hair on top of my head in a funtwist and secured it with rhinestonehairpins—fifty cents at Wal-Mart! Ifished out my dangling rhinestoneearrings—two bucks at Marshall’s—and eased into my shiny black partypants. Hopefully, my getup wouldinspire some serious tipping.

The bar was hopping, but not asbusy as it was years ago. My shiftstarted at seven, and before I knewit, it was eleven. I was bringingchampagne out from our back cool-er, getting ready for the midnighttoast, when someone called, “Joy!”

I looked up, shocked to seeLandon standing there in all his hotglory. “Hey! You must’ve heardabout our free midnight toast.”

He laughed. “No, but that’s onegood reason to be here.”

“Who’d you come with?”He shrugged. “No one.”“Where’s the girlfriend?” I blurted

out, not at all subtly.“We broke up a few days ago.” He

shrugged. “It really wasn’t that seri-ous anyway.”

I set down the bottles of cham-pagne and wiped my hands on thelittle black apron slung across myhips. “I’m sorry to hear it. What hap-pened?”

He opened his mouth, and thenclosed it. He shook his head.

I held up a hand. “I’m sorry. It’snone of my business. So, what can Iget you?”

“No, it’s okay. Believe it or not, wegot in a fight after our shoppingexpedition.”

My smile fell. “I’m so sorry,” I said,holding my hand over my heart.“Why?”

He shrugged. “Well, she’s wickedjealous and didn’t like that I spentthe morning with another woman.”He rolled his eyes. “And she wasbeing critical of the bargains I got.Thought it was cheap of me. So I toldher she was a snob, and it sort ofwent downhill from there.”

I put my hands on my hips. “Shesounds beastly.”

“I think you’re right. It was a goodmove. Can I get a beer? You lookgreat by the way.”

I lifted one shoulder and grinned.“Thanks.”

I handed him his beer, but it wasbusy and I couldn’t chat with him asmuch as I would’ve liked. It didn’tbother him though. He stayed at thebar, catching little bits of conversa-tion with me when he could, which Ithought was really sweet.

I passed out glasses of cham-pagne as midnight approached andgave one to Landon. We counteddown together and clinked ourglasses when the clock hit midnight.

He reached across the bar andleaned toward me. “Is it okay if I giveyou a kiss?”

I nodded. “I think it’s required,being New Year’s and all.”

He brushed his lips against mine ina kiss that definitely wasn’t a friendlyNew Year’s peck. We both smiled ateach other like idiots.

“Hey, I didn’t mention that I’m hav-ing a New Year’s party. I’d love foryou to come,” I said.

“After work tonight?” He lookedconfused.

“No, next Saturday. I’m going topick up all the discounted NewYear’s stuff tomorrow and celebratenext weekend.”

He laughed. “Of course you are. Ikeep forgetting; you’re beautiful andsmart.”

Well, that made my tummy tumble.I gave him the information for theparty, and then had to deal with thecrush of customers at the bar, look-

ing for their first drink of the NewYear.

Landon caught my eye over thecrowd and waved goodnight. Iwaved back, and then crossed myfingers that he’d come to my party.

Well, that was a long week of wait-ing. But I picked up my super cheapsupplies, decorated my apartment,made my favorite party dips andappetizers, and waited for the gueststo arrive. One guest in particular.

I didn’t have to wait long; Landonwas the first one there. He lookedgorgeous in a pale blue shirt, almostthe same color as his eyes.

“Wow, you look gorgeous,” hesaid.

I twirled around in my purple partydress to give him a better view of thelow cut back. “Fifty percent off, I’mhappy to report.”

“Well done. I brought you some-thing,” he said.

“You didn’t have to.” I took the giftbag he handed me and peekedinside. I laughed. “Photo coasters?How did you know? You must havespent a fortune on these,” I teased.

“I did indeed.” He came in, and Ikind of wished I hadn’t invited any-one else. But the crowd picked upand I had to play hostess. We had agreat time, dancing and toasting theNew Year all over again at midnight.Most of the crowd thinned out byone, but Landon stayed after every-one left to help me pick up.

“That was fun,” he said, picking upa streamer that had fallen down.

“I’ll get that tomorrow. You don’thave to help me clean up.” I floppedon the couch and he sat next to me.He put his arm around me andsmiled.

“So, what’s your New Year’s reso-lution?” I asked.

“To never pay full retail priceagain. And to hang out with womensmart enough to do the same.” Heleaned over and kissed me again,nearly knocking the breath out ofme. “So what’s yours?” he asked.

“To do a lot more than this,” I said,kissing him back. “What a bargain,right? Tons of fun and totally free.”

He laughed and pulled me closer,and we both kept our resolutionsthat year. And when it came time topick out my diamond ring a year anda half later, he made sure to shop forthe absolute best price.♥

TR7

If someone had told me several years ago that there would come atime in my life when I would actually enjoy the cold weather, I wouldhave told them they were crazy.

In the past, I’d always dreaded the approaching winter months. Everyyear, when fall rolled around, I’d find myself reconsidering my son’soffer to pull up stakes and move to Florida to live with him and his fam-ily.

And, truthfully, the idea did have certain appeals once upon a time.While the most obvious was the fact that I’d no longer have to livethrough another harsh winter alone, another huge plus was that I’d getto see my four-year-old granddaughter every single day. My current sit-uation only allowed me visits twice a year, once when the three of themvisited in the summer, and another time when I visited them for a weekat Christmas.

But even though I truly hated the thought of spending another drearywinter by myself, the thought of giving up what freedom I had alwaysmade me reconsider. I enjoyed having a space to call my own. I enjoyedmy peaceful evenings, and I took great delight in knowing that I couldcome and go as I pleased.TR

8

Beatingthe Winter Blues

While I loved my son and his fami-ly, I knew that a permanent livingarrangement with them would great-ly alter that situation. At forty-five, Iwas still a young, vibrant woman,capable of making it on my own.

Sitting in my kitchen, peering out atthe moving van in the drivewayacross the street, I felt a wisp of sor-row. My husband, Chris, and I hadloved sitting at the bay windowwatching the leaves turn colors andsilently fall to the ground as theweather grew colder and drearier.We’d spend many mornings togetherlike this, sipping hot cider or coffeeand simply enjoying each other’scompany before heading off to work.

When he died suddenly two yearsago, loneliness set in, and I began todread the approaching wintermonths.

Across the street, a tall, good-looking man about my own agestepped out onto his front porch. I’dwatched the huge moving vanunload his belongings the daybefore, but didn’t notice how manypeople were moving into the house.Holding my cup in one hand, Ioffered a friendly wave in his direc-tion. He returned the gesture with awarm smile.

Under normal circumstances,Chris and I would have gone overand welcomed our new neighbors tothe area with a plate of warm, home-baked cookies and a fresh pot of cof-fee.

But Chris was no longer here, andI’d made some changes since hisdeath. One of those changes was Inow lead a more healthy life. Chrishad died unexpectedly of a heartattack at the young age of forty-five. Irealized too late that a healthierlifestyle probably would haveallowed the two of us more timetogether.

Unfortunately, we both thought wehad many more years before needingto worry about our diets. As manyworking couples do, Chris and I fellinto the easy, convenient routine ofpicking up fast-food dinners on theway home from work. We’d oftensettle in front of the television, clog-ging our arteries with hamburgers,hot dogs, and greasy French friesinstead of taking a few minutes toprepare a healthy dinner together.

Gardening had become my pas-sion since Chris’s death. Growing my

own vegetables in the spring andsummer not only produced a varietyof healthy food, but working outsidein the yard also kept me from sittinginside my house, eating junk foodand watching television. I even had asmall greenhouse built into theenclosed back porch in order to pro-duce a few homegrown vegetablesthroughout the winter season.

Walking was another change I’dmade in my life. Each day, as I start-ed on my journey throughout theneighborhood, I wondered why Chrisand I had never experienced thebeauty of an early morning walk. Thebreathtaking view of the dew glisten-ing on trees and lawns was a sight tobehold. Surely we would haveenjoyed the early mornings outside inthe fresh cool air instead of sitting inour comfortable kitchen, devouringenormous, unhealthy breakfasts ofpancakes and heavy syrup, sippingcup after cup of coffee.

And now it was too late to sharethese things with my husband, I real-ized sadly. These things I now do bymyself would be nicer if Chris wereable to experience them with me.Loneliness is everything it’s crackedup to be—the one reason I still con-templated the possibility of moving inwith my son and his family in Florida.

Finishing off my cup of green tea, Ireached for the tennis shoes by thedoor, slipped my feet inside, andlaced them up. Stepping onto thefront porch, I did a few stretchesbefore embarking on my morningwalk. The air was crisp and the sunbright with the promise of a beautifullate fall day.

The new occupant of the houseacross the street was no longer out-side when I walked by. Although Iknew it was silly, I found myself won-dering if he and his wife were holingup in their new house, the way Chrisand I used to. I hoped not.

Circling the block, I tossed afriendly wave to the few neighbors Ipassed along the way, pausing oncein a while to offer a friendly chitchat. Isoaked in the beautiful array of trees,some of which still had orange, red,and amber leaves. While I had toadmit the late fall colors were a siteto behold, I knew I wouldn’t enjoy thedreary, lonely winters that always fol-lowed such beauty.

When my pedometer indicated

that I had walked a mile, I turneddown a side street and continued mywalk toward my house, my heartbeating a pleasant rhythm of accom-plishment. I felt so much more invig-orated and full of energy after amorning walk. I knew I’d be ready totackle some much-needed gardenwork, as well as cleaning out theflowerbeds in preparation for anotherlong winter.

As I rounded the corner to myhouse, an unfamiliar voice caught myattention. “Good morning!”

I stopped in front of the new neigh-bor’s house and offered a friendlysmile. “Welcome to the neighbor-hood,” I said, putting my hands onmy knees to catch my breath.

I wasn’t sure if the shortness ofbreath was from the vigorous walk orthe sight of my new neighbor. Thebrief glimpse I had from my windowearlier allowed only a dim view of theman who now stood before me. Hisslightly mussed brown hair framed atanned face with dimples that deep-ened when he smiled.

“I’m Claire Saddlite,” I finally man-aged to choke out. “I’m your neigh-bor just across the street.”

He walked down the steps andheld out his hand. “I’m DougSheppard,” he replied warmly. “It’snice to see a friendly face in a com-pletely unfamiliar situation. I’m a bitout of practice when it comes tomeeting new people.”

I wasn’t sure what he meant bythat statement, so I tried making ajoke. “You didn’t just get out ofprison, did you?”

His smile widened, exposing thosegorgeous dimples even more.“Nothing like that,” he assured me.“But after living in the same house forover twenty years, and working at thesame job all that time, it’s very diffi-cult to pack up and start over. It’skind of like when I graduated fromhigh school and moved into my firstapartment.”

“You did make a major change,” Isaid, wondering what would makesomeone want to start completelyover in a new location and a newcareer. My curiosity was hoping he’doffer to expand on that strange state-ment. His next words both intriguedand frightened me.

“I just made a fresh pot of decaf-feinated coffee. Would you care tojoin me for a cup?”

TR10


He must have sensed my hesita-tion, because his next statementeased my concern. “I was just aboutto bring a cup out to the porch. Howabout if I bring an extra cup?”

“I’d like that,” I said truthfully.Although I didn’t consider myself thesuspicious type, I didn’t know any-thing about this man who had sud-denly left his previous life behind.While I couldn’t deny the obviousattraction I felt, I also knew betterthan to place myself in an awkwardor dangerous situation.

While he entered his house for thecoffee, I made myself comfortable onthe front steps. Looking across thelawn, my gaze settled on my ownhouse across the street. I’d done agood job landscaping my lacklusteryard over the past two years. Vibrantchrysanthemums added a comfort-able, homey atmosphere to an other-wise drab existence. Chris wouldhave been proud.

“I saw you outside watering yourflowers while my movers were hereyesterday,” Doug said as he shut thefront door and handed me a cup ofhot coffee. “Do you live alone?”

Warning flags shot through mybody again, making me tense. Dougmust have noticed my sudden dis-comfort.

“I’m doing this all wrong, aren’t I?”he said, shaking his head.

I smiled a bit uncomfortably andtook a cautious sip of my coffee.“Well, you are being a bit mysteri-ous,” I said, without meeting hisgaze.

He took a huge gulp of his coffeeand laughed. “You’re right. I need tostart all over—in more ways thanone,” he added with a grin.

He set his cup on the porch, turnedto face me, and extended his hand.“Hi, I’m you’re new neighbor, DougSheppard. “I was married for twentyloveless and childless years. I endedthat, along with our business partner-ship. I finally decided to just cut mylosses and start the rest of my lifeover in completely unfamiliar territo-ry, because life is way too short todwell on past mistakes.”

He raised his eyebrows. “How am Idoing?”

“Not bad,” I admitted, findingmyself suddenly curious about thisnew stranger in town. “Except thatyou still haven’t said why you picked

this neighborhood of all the otherplaces in the state.”

He pursed his lips and nodded hishead before taking another sip of hiscoffee. “I have to admit that I drovethrough this neighborhood, as wellas several others, many times beforedeciding it was the place for me.”

“So what was the deciding factorin your decision?” I asked.

“I liked what I saw,” he said, meet-ing my eyes with a warm smile. Hegulped the last of his coffee. “And itwas close enough to my new job thatI can ride my bike there if I want to.”

“Ride your bike to work?” I asked,surprised by his remark. “You reallydid give up the rat race, didn’t you?”

“In a lot of ways, I’ve been prettyfortunate. Luckily, my ex-wife and Iparted on amicable terms. We’vealways been better friends than mar-riage partners. Our business was theonly thing we had in common. Sowhen I decided to leave it all behind,she bought me out.”

“So you’re semi-retired?”Doug laughed and combed a hand

through his thick hair. “Are you kid-ding? At my age? No way am I hang-ing it all up for a life of leisure. But I’mfortunate enough to work at a low-paying job I really enjoy, instead offighting my way into the world of cut-throat business dealings.”

I nodded, amazed at the informa-tion he had shared so freely. Andalso amazed at how much we werealike, although I didn’t realize it untilhe spoke the words aloud. WhenChris died, his life insurance wouldhave afforded me the luxury of leav-ing my teaching job behind and set-tling into a sedentary lifestyle. But,apparently, deep down, that wasn’twhat I really wanted. I had to admitthat teaching gave me something tolook forward to each day—especiallyduring the dreary winter months.Those were the months when I couldvery easily succumb to a life ofdepression and self-pity.

“So, how’d I do?” Doug asked,tearing me away from my thoughts.“Am I a bit less mysterious now?”

“Absolutely,” I answered, feelingmore satisfied with my life than I hadin two years.

Doug pretended to wipe sweatfrom his forehead. “Whew! I thought Ihad blown this new life thing before iteven got started,” he said. Reachingfor his cup, he started to take anoth-

er sip before realizing it was empty. “Ithink we need a refill,” he said, takingmy cup as well. “But when I comeback, it’ll be your turn,” he addedsoftly.

While he was gone, I took the timeto dwell on the things I’d been miss-ing. Even though my husband wasno longer with me, I still had a lot tobe thankful for. I had my health, anice place to live, and wonderfulfriends and neighbors who would bewilling to help if ever I needed any-thing. I realized I had more than a lotof people in my situation.

Doug returned moments later andhanded me my cup of steaming cof-fee. Once he settled onto the porch,he wasted no time in continuing ourprevious conversation. “Okay,” hesaid, sipping his hot brew. “The flooris all yours. Tell me all about your-self.”

I sucked in a deep breath as Ithought about what to say. Thestranger had already made me seemy life in a different way. “Well, let’ssee,” I began. “I’m a widow of twoyears. I teach high school English,and I just recently embarked on ahealthier lifestyle,” I said, all in onelong breath. “And, oh yeah,” I addeda bit hesitantly, “I absolutely despisethe winter weather. So you might aswell know right now that I tend to bea real grouch during the coldmonths.”

Doug’s smile almost turned into alaugh. “Now why is that?” he askedwith a lift of his eyebrows. “Why doescold weather turn you into such agrouch?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” I replied. “It’scold! We have to keep the houseclosed up for several long, drearymonths. The grass dies; all the leaveson the trees die. In some ways, itseems like the end of the world.”

My words surprised me. UntilDoug had forced me to speak mythoughts out loud, I hadn’t realizedhow terrible it all sounded.

Doug smiled his understanding.“Believe me, I know exactly how youfeel,” he admitted. “Because I usedto feel the same way.”

I raised an eyebrow. “I don’tbelieve you!” I responded with doubt.“I can’t imagine you ever beingdepressed over anything. You’re notmaking fun of me, are you?” TR

11(Continued on page 61)

TR12

It was cold. I could see my breath when I got out of the car and my feet crunched onthe ice. A few snowflakes spit from the slate gray sky as I looked around the parkinglot. The sight of Edward’s rusted green jeep made me want to go home, get into bed,and pull the covers over my head. But no. . .I couldn’t. There were things to be said andpapers to be signed.

After studying his car for a moment, I walked purposely towards the base of themountain. Edward would be there—I’d have to face him. I needed to tell him news hewouldn’t want to hear. Ignoring the doubt and trepidation that was my constant com-panion for the last eight months, I walked past the ticket booth and up the inclinetowards the chairlift.

Snowboard Baby

“Hey,” Tad McGrath, the chairliftoperator, called out to me. “It’s HollyFoster,” he added as he helped afamily of four onto a quad lift. Tadhad been working at the resort forthe last twenty years. He was an old-school boarder, and back in the day,he knew Jake Burton. “Long time nosee.”

“Yeah,” I replied, letting my headbob up and down. “I’ve been away.”As his eyes drifted down my body, Ifolded my hands over my belly. Ididn’t know if he could tell, but Iwasn’t going to say anything.Edward deserved to know first.

Then he pointed over my shoulder.“I just put Edward on,” he said. “Heshould be coming down the super-pipe in about ten minutes.”

I nodded and went towards the hill.As I weaved my way through theskiers and sidestepped the snow-boarders, I ran into Blake Conners.“Its patrol girl,” he said, looking meup and down. “I was wonderingwhen you’d make an appearanceagain. Edward’s heart’s been bleed-ing all over this mountain,” he addedwith tons of snark in his voice.

I returned his greeting with barely asmile. Blake deserved nothing morebecause there was nothing pleasantabout him. The only time Blake wasdecent to me was when his leg shat-tered in three places and I was hisonly means of help. He was alsoEdward’s biggest rival in the area.Since they were eight years old, thetwo have traded first and second-place medals.

When I arrived at the bottom of thesuperpipe, I could see Edward com-ing down. I knew it was him becausehe wore black ski pants, an orangejacket, and a purple helmet.Supposedly the helmet gave himluck. I sat down on the bleachers as Iwatched him execute a backside airflawlessly, then a rodeo five followedby a back flip. I decided I wouldnever tease him about that helmetagain.

Edward didn’t see me when hestopped in a cloud of powder at thebottom. After high-fiving a few kids,he took his gloves off, unsnapped hisboot, and started sliding towards thechairlift. I could tell he was in thezone, and I wasn’t sure if I shouldinterrupt him.

Before all this happened, when I

was on ski patrol, we didn’t talkmuch during the day. He had his job,and I mine. Finally, he looked up andour eyes met. “Holly,” he raised botheyebrows at me, and I could seethem fold up under his helmet.

“Hi,” I said. I was excited to seehim but didn’t want to show it. Eventhough I had a solution to the prob-lem I was dumping on his doorstep, Iknew this wasn’t going to be a happyreunion.

He scooted the last few pacestowards me and reached for myhand. “I didn’t think you were comingback,” he said. I thought I heard atouch of melancholy in his voice.

Nevertheless, I pulled away. If heknew what was good for him, hewouldn’t want anything to do withme. I could ruin his future, andEdward was not one to be messedwith. Last year, he signed a deal withan ice tea company. This year, hewon gold at the Winter X Games.Next year, if he qualifies, it’s on to theOlympics.

He looked hurt. “Where have youbeen?” he asked as he pushed hisgoggles up onto his forehead. Thenhe pulled down the bandana he hadwrapped around his chin. Edwardwasn’t gorgeous in a classic, runwaymodel type of way. His eyes weredark and close together. There was ascar on his chin from a particularlybad fall off a rock ledge, and his fronttooth was chipped—he didn’t havethe money or the insurance to fix it.But when he smiled, it all cametogether and he was the most beau-tiful man in the world—at least to me.

Perceptively, he picked up on mymood and stopped smiling. With aworried glance in my direction, heleaned over and unfastened his otherboot from the board. I noticed he hada new board. Burton—I wondered ifthey were sponsoring him, too. Iwouldn’t be surprised if he hadsigned another contract. While I wasin California whiling away the hours,turning into a butterball, he had wongold at the World Cup in Switzerland.

After picking up his board, he gaveme a good, long look. I tried to not lethis velvety brown eyes fluster me. Ihad my mission, and I needed tostick to it. Because of the heavy coat,I knew he couldn’t tell why I washere. I had a few more minutes toenjoy him before he threw me out ofhis life. “Want to get a hot choco-

late?” he asked.“Okay,” I said, trying to force a

smile.He threw his board over his shoul-

der and waited chivalrously for me tostand up. Edward had been raisedright. Even though he was pretty hotstuff on the hill, he wasn’t all ego likeBlake.

An electronic Santa bellowing “ho,ho, ho” greeted us as we steppedinto the wood paneled cafeteria. Likea typical ski lodge, the floor was slickwith ice and slush. Even though Iknew to expect it, I needed amoment to gain my footing. Edwardput his hand under my elbow as Isteadied myself. Before he couldwrap his arm around my waist, Istepped out of his embrace.

“You okay?” he asked.“Fine,” I replied in a squeaky voice

as we walked around the fireplacetoward the tables.

“Why don’t you sit by the window,”he suggested as he pointed a glovedhand at the large bay that overlookedthe bottom of the mountain. “I’ll getthe cocoa.”

As I watched the sun send darkshadows across the snow, I contem-plated the skiers and snowboarderscoming down the mountain. It wasthe last run of the day and always thebusiest for ski patrol. I recognizedmany of the faces because I had putice on their bruises, bandages ontheir cuts, and even set brokenbones.

It made me sad to think that lastyear I was important to those peopleand their safety on the mountain. Infact, I even saved a few of their lives.But now I felt like nothing, just anuneducated single woman with toofew options.

“I told Lettie you were back intown, and she added whippedcream,” Edward said as he placedthe cup in front of me, the creamrolling down the sides.

I smiled. I always liked Lettie. Onthe coldest of days, she’d havesomething hot ready for me in thekitchen. When I moved to California,I tried to recreate her turkey chili. Iwasn’t successful; the most impor-tant ingredient was missing—themountains. “I’ll have to say hi,” I toldEdward.

Before sitting down, my formerboyfriend pulled off his helmet,

TR14


unzipped his coat, and put it on theback of his chair. A woodsy smelldrifted towards me. It was as familiarto me as my own scent.

After sitting down, Edward eyedme carefully. Besides being wellmannered, he was also observant.Nothing got by him; he could seetreacherous ruts in the snow fromthe top of the mountain. “Why don’tyou take your coat off?” he suggest-ed.

As I met his gaze, I knew it was mymoment of reckoning. I needed toface Edward and tell him exactlywhat was going on. “Edward,” I saidas I looked out at the chairlift shut-ting down. The chairs bounced upand down while the signal wentthrough the cable. Because Icouldn’t find the words to explaineverything to Edward, I unzipped mycoat and let my belly roll out.

It took him a moment to under-stand. At first, he stared at me with adark shadow over his face. Then helifted both eyebrows as he reachedacross the table and touched mystomach. “You’re pregnant,” hefinally said.

“Yes,” I breathed, shifting in mychair. I really wanted to close myjacket, get in my car, and drive backto California. At twenty-three yearsold, we were both far too young forsomething like this.

If I could’ve, I’d raise the babyalone. But the law wasn’t written thatway. Once the child was born, and ifthe father was known, he had to benotified about any decisions con-cerning the child’s well being.

Just as the color was starting toreturn in Edward’s face, BlakeConners burst into the room. He hadhis arm around a blue-eyed blond girlwearing a pink Spyder parka and ared Santa hat. “Edward,” he calledout. As I said earlier, Blake wasEdward’s rival but also his practicepartner. There was a complicatedlove-hate relationship between thetwo.

As Edward tried to wave off hisfair-weather friend, I quickly closedmy parka. If Blake knew about this,the whole mountain would know inless than an hour. I didn’t feel likeexplaining my current predicamentto the lift operator up on Bonanza.

Edward stood and met Blake overnear the fireplace. “This is not a goodtime,” I could hear him mutter.

“Just wanted to say hi to Holly,”Blake replied. I think he may havealready had his first après ski. “It’sgreat that she’s back in town,” heslurred.

“Why don’t you catch up with herlater,” Edward suggested as the firecrackled. After a moment of studyingboth of us, Blake muttered okay andmoved on. With one final glance,which seemed more like a victorydance, Blake left.

Even if Blake didn’t know ourexact situation, I could tell he knewsomething was up and that it wouldbe a distraction for Edward. Hequickly calculated an advantage forhimself. After a moment, Edward satback down. Before looking at me, heran his hands through his hair. “Thisis why you left early last spring,” hefinally said.

“I went to my aunts in California,” Iexplained, looking down at myhands wrapped around theStyrofoam cup. Steam rose from thecocoa.

He put his face into his hands. Ididn’t know if he was mad, upset, orseeing his future vanish in a puff ofpowder. I decided to reassure him.“I’m going to put the baby up foradoption,” I said in a low voice.When he didn’t respond, I continued,“I wouldn’t have bothered you withthis, but I need you to sign somepapers.”

“What?” Now I could tell he wasannoyed. However, I wasn’t sure if itwas because I came back andplaced this problem on his broadshoulders, or because he was mad Iwas pregnant in the first place.

“Don’t I have a say in any of this?”he demanded. Then he narrowed hiseyes and looked at me like I was athief who stole his best board off therack out front.

“You have a say now,” I replied,trying to sound logical. There was nosense getting emotional. I’d made aterrible mistake and I would pay for itfor a very long time. But at least Icould give my child an opportunity ata life with two parents who loved himand a stable household. “Sign theform,” I suggested to Edward.

“What if I don’t want to give my kidaway?” he asked, challenging mewith a disgusted look.

Now that surprised me. As I saidbefore, Edward had a bright future.The kind that included awards,

endorsements, and money—lots ofmoney. Not the kind that was abouttwo a.m. feedings, dirty diapers, andplayground politics.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” heasked, pushing the form backtowards me.

“You had the X Games,” I said,feeling slightly defensive. At the time,I thought I was doing the right thingfor him and me. Edward and I datedmost of last season and we likedeach other a lot, maybe we evenloved each other. But when I foundmyself pregnant in early March, Iknew the potential for this ruiningboth our futures was pretty sure.Some may interpret my actions ascowardly, but I thought I was doingwhat was best for all involved.

He picked up a snowman salt-shaker and rolled it around in hishands. “Who is going to adopt thebaby?” he asked, and I could hearthe catch in his voice.

“A nice young couple living in SanDiego,” I replied with fake enthusi-asm. “They have a big backyard anda nursery with blue walls that looksover a garden,” I continued mypathetic sales pitch. “Plus they bothhave good jobs,” I added that morefor myself than for him.

Since I had summers off, I didn’tmake a lot of money doing ski patrol.I drove an old car, shared my apart-ment with another patroller, and hadabout two hundred dollars in my sav-ings account. There was no way Icould give this child the advantagesthe couple in San Diego could.

“It’s a boy,” he said.“It will be a Christmas present for

them.” Then I stopped myself andshook my head, “I think they’reJewish.” I started to say the name ofthe holiday but couldn’t remember.Along with my body turning into abutterball, my brain was going tomush. I used to be a lean and deci-sive machine. On a regular basis, Imade life and death decisions; now,at nine months pregnant, I couldn’tdecide if I wanted Cheerios or cornflakes for breakfast.

“Hanukkah,” Edward supplied.“What?”“The Jewish holiday,” he pointed

out. He shifted in his chair andrubbed his hand over his chin.

I pushed the paper back towardshim. “I wouldn’t have come to youwith this if I didn’t have to,” I

TR15

explained. The Open was in twomonths, and I knew he had to trainfor it.

“It’s not a problem,” he said reas-suringly as he looked down at thepaper. Then he picked it up and readthe first few lines with a frown. “I’vegot to think about this,” he warnedas he stood. “I’m not sure I want todo this.” Then he turned and walkedaway. With his ski pants hanginglow, snow clinging to the bottom ofhis jacket, and his laces flappingaround his toes, he looked too youngto have a baby, at least to me.

The next day, Edward called.“Where are you?” I asked. I couldhear wind in the background and thenoise of a chairlift unloading skiers.

“At the top of a trail,” he replied.“Are you going into the back coun-

try?” I asked. With nothing better todo, I spent the morning listening tomy roommate’s short-wave radio. Iknew the ski patrol was worriedabout avalanches. Twenty inches ofsnow fell during the night and itwasn’t letting up. I also knew thefresh powder would be tempting tosomeone like Edward.

“Yeah,” he said. “The powder is—”“There’s an advisory,” I interrupt-

ed, knowing what he was going tosay. I’d seen firsthand the devasta-tion of an avalanche, and usuallythere was no rescue work needed—just search. Last year, out by BlackBear Pass, a precipice had fallen andkilled a skier. We spent three daystrying to find the body.

“Maybe you should stay out of theback country today,” I suggested asI looked out the window. I could onlysee the lower part of the mountain.The day was gray with a dusting ofsnow. However, farther up, stormclouds were gathering. “It looks likethere’s a squall coming,” I said, ashake in my voice. Again, I chalkedthis unsteadiness up to the pregnan-cy. Even though I worried aboutEdward in the past, I never showedit.

“I wish you were out here to pickup the pieces,” he said wistfully, andI knew exactly what he meant. Ourrelationship cemented after Edwardtook a terrible spill in the Puma Bowl.I was the first medic to arrive on thescene. After stabilizing him, andwhile waiting for the toboggan, wetalked. I soon learned he wasn’t one

of those showy boarder types likeBlake, but a thoughtful, considerateperson. Every five minutes hethanked me for staying with him.

“Is anyone with you?” I asked. “No,” he said. “I wanted to be

alone.”That just increased my worry

twofold. With those clouds rolling infrom the west, I knew if anythinghappened to Edward, it’d be difficultto find him. “I’ll call Mila,” I suggest-ed. “She can go with you.”

“No,” he replied again, this timemuch stronger.

Edward had been on the mountainsince he was three years old, and Iknew my words offended him. For amoment we were silent. All I heardwas the wind blowing and icepounding against my windows.

In the few minutes that Edwardand I were on the phone, the spittingsnow turned into somethingstronger. I could see skiers headingtowards the lodge, and the few whostayed in the lift line zipped up theirjackets and pulled goggles downover their eyes.

“It’s getting worse,” I said.“I know,” he replied. Then he

changed the subject. “Could Rockyand I stop by later?” he asked. Rockywas his German shepherd, about ahundred pounds and all fur. WhenEdward wasn’t on the mountain, hewas with his dog.

“Sure,” I said.“See you later,” he replied. Then

he hung up as I started to admonishhim to be careful, but my wordsvibrated against the dead phone line.

Around six-thirty, there was aknock on my door and I breathed asigh of relief. I knew it was Edwardbecause I recognized the sound ofhis truck pulling into the driveway.Mila was still at work. She would beout most of the night. The ski patrolneeded to close trails and set explo-sives for controlled avalanches whenno one was around.

Before opening the door, Irearranged my face. I didn’t wantEdward to see how concerned I’dbeen for him. When Edward steppedinto the apartment, he smelled likethe mountain. The scent of pine treesand fresh powder rolled in along withhis dog Rocky, who I was particular-ly fond of. After greeting me with afew sniffs and allowing a pat on the

head, Rocky plopped down in frontof the fireplace and closed his eyes.

As I watched Edward’s loyal com-panion, it felt like nothing hadchanged. Even though a year hadpassed and we had a life-changingdecision to make, things felt familiar.Especially when Edward stuck hisnose in the refrigerator and rubbedhis belly.

“Have you got anything to eat?” heasked, closing the door and reachingfor the kitchen cabinets. He made aface when he found them empty.

“Not much,” I explained, affirminghis assessment. “I haven’t felt likefood lately,” I added with a crinkle ofmy nose.

“Whose apples?” he asked, eyeingthe fruit sitting in a bowl in the middleof the table.

“Mila’s,” I replied. “I don’t thinkshe’d mind if you had one,” I said asI waddled over to the couch anddropped myself down with a huff. Ireally didn’t like my less-than-one-percent-body-fat of a formerboyfriend seeing me like this. I usedto be built like him—lean and con-cave.

Glancing at me curiously, Edwardtossed the apple back and forthbetween his hands. “Why don’t youwant to eat?” he asked, still not tak-ing a bite.

“My stomach is upset,” Iexplained, running a hand over thatarea of my body—the one causingme so many troubles. The babywasn’t due until the twenty-fourth ofDecember, and I really wasn’t surehow I’d get through the next threeweeks. My doctor was annoyed withme for making this trip to Colorado,but I had to do it. For my own peaceof mind, I needed all the paperworkin order before the grand finale.

“I’m sorry,” he said before taking abite of the apple, ingesting almosthalf. I watched the juice run down hischin, small chunks rolling out thecorner of his mouth. He used hissleeve to wipe the mess off his wor-ried face. “I didn’t mean to get youpregnant.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” I replied as Ilooked into the fireplace. The warmthfrom the flames felt comforting onmy face and eased my aching body.“We both should have been morecareful,” I muttered under my breath.

He opened a window and tossedthe apple core outside for the birds

TR16

before drifting over to the hearth.After sidestepping around Rocky, hesat down at my feet and leanedagainst my knees. “I’m sorry I wasn’tthere for you,” he said, not looking atme.

My fingers twitched. I wanted torun them through his tangled hairand push the loose ends off his fore-head like I used to do many winternights ago. Instead, I shifted myposition to a more comfortableslouch and continued to look into theflames.

Abruptly Edward turned and puthis head in my lap, facing my belly. Itried to slide away but couldn’t. Theweight of him held me in place.

“Ever since you told me,” he saidslowly, “I feel like he’s talking to me.”

“Who?”“He’s telling me,” Edward contin-

ued, ignoring my question as he lift-ed his hand. “I’m yours,” he said,tracing his finger in the air over mybelly. “I’m your gift.”

Now I knew. He was talking aboutthe baby. I spent the last ninemonths trying not to personalize orfall in love with this child. If I did that,it would be harder to give him away.I couldn’t believe that in one day he’dstolen Edward’s heart and was nowbargaining for his soul.

“Can I feel your belly?” my formerlover asked.

“Yes,” I whispered, knowing thatwould cement the deal betweenthem. Even though Edward was atough competitor and sometimescrass, he wasn’t without feeling.When he liked someone, he felt itdeeply. I think that was why our bondwas so strong last winter.

He ran his broad hand up over mysweater. As I watched his callusedfingers slide down the sides of mybelly, I felt sad for what could havebeen. If only this had happened atanother time, when Edward and Iwere older and had the resources tosupport a family.

Then the baby kicked against hisfingers. “Ohhh,” Edward cried out.“Are you trying to talk to me littlefella?” The baby kicked again asEdward leaned closer to me. “Whatdo you need?” Edward whisperedinto my belly. “Are you ready tocome out of there and face theworld?”

Then Edward pushed my sweaterup and traced his fingertips along my

bare skin. The baby’s knee or elbowpressed against my side, creating abulge under my ribcage. Edwardcupped the limb in the palm of hishand. With that simple gesture, allthe emotions I’d suppressed for thelast nine months crashed to the sur-face.

Tears I hadn’t shed blurred myvision and clung heavily to my eye-lashes. With his other hand, Edwardreached for mine. He held me as hecontinued to talk to the baby. “Youknow, baby,” he said softly, “yourmommy thinks she’s tough.Climbing into avalanches, skiingblack diamonds at full speed, rescu-ing people off cornices. But don’tyou worry,” he advised. “She’s reallya marshmallow under it all, and eventhough she doesn’t show it, sheloves you as much as I do.”

That night Edward got into bed nextto me. I rolled over onto my side andhe rubbed the base of my spine. Atthat moment, his warm fingers feltbetter than sex and chocolate com-bined. And while the sound of hissoft breath lulled me into sleep, I feltthe least anxious I’d felt in a longtime. Maybe everything would beokay, maybe this could work out.

While I slid over that precipice intooblivion, I thought I heard Edwardsay, “I love you, Holly.” But I was toofar gone into the land of the sheep tobe sure. Plus I wasn’t sure I wantedto know. Tomorrow was anotherday, and God willing, I’d have thestrength to face my heart’s desireand the decisions that had to bemade.

I think you should stay the course,”Mila repeated herself sternly the nextday. My roommate was practical likeme. We both ate right, balanced ourcheckbooks, and got eight hours ofsleep every night. “Edward’s goingto be in Argentina by May, and youcan’t follow him there with a baby intow.” After hearing Mila’s assess-ment of the situation the first time,Edward got up and left, mutteringsomething about wanting to raise hisson.

I nodded again. Mila had a point.Many of the top-ranked snowboard-ers went to South America in thesummer to continue their training.Besides being cold and snowy in LasLenas, Edward’s accommodations

were rustic. The landscape wasbeautiful, but he stayed in a dormito-ry with a bunch of other guys.

“You don’t want to be some boardgroupie?” Mila raised her eyebrowsin a “do you?” kind of way. When shefound the expression on my face notas outraged as she thought it shouldbe, she added, “Those women aresad.”

It certainly would be degrading tofollow Edward around the world fromski resort to ski resort. But he lovedthe baby. Would I regret my decisionif I didn’t try to make this work?

“He won’t sign the form,” I said toMila, trying to explain why I wasreassessing my options. “He lovesthe baby,” I said, and I think the hap-piness in my voice surprised her.

“Yeah, right,” she rolled her eyesand shook her head. A few yearsback, Mila’s father remarried; nowshe had a two-year-old stepsister, soshe knew all about this stuff. “IsMister Gold Medal still going to lovethat baby when he can’t sleep at twoin the morning?” She pointed herspoon towards me. “What aboutwhen he loses a major competitionbecause he didn’t have enough timeto practice?”

I rubbed the sleep out of my eyesand sighed. “You’re right,” I conced-ed.

“Don’t you want to follow your ownpath? Build a life?” she continued,now driving her point home a littletoo hard, and not march around theworld watching him get all theglory?” she pressed.

Even though she was beingbeyond annoying, she was probablyright. I wasn’t famous like Edward,but I was well respected in ski patrolcircles, and that made me proud. Onthe other hand, maybe I could put mypride on hold for a few years.

“Stick to the plan,” she suggested.“Don’t let Edward derail you.” Thenshe put her bowl in the dishwasher,grabbed her jacket, and headed outthe door.

After she left, I studied the clock. Ihad a long day ahead of me. Since itwas sunny outside, the patrol radiowouldn’t be as interesting as it wasyesterday. I needed to find some-thing else to do, and I wanted toclear my head communing withnature.

Without warning, my insides flood-TR18

ed out of me in a river of warmwater—otherwise known as embry-onic fluid. I wasn’t expecting thiswhen I decided to snowshoe upRabbit Pass. All I wanted to do wasenjoy the sunshine for a few hours.Not have a baby.

I quickly got Mila on the phone.“This morning Edward told me he

was going out that way,” she said.“Is he boarding the back country

alone—again?” I spat, agitatedbeyond belief.

“Isn’t that the pot calling the kettleblack?” she countered.

“I’m snowshoeing, not going downa mountain at fifty miles per hour,” Ishot back. I knew everything wasgoing to be okay, but I was feeling alittle edgy.

She ignored my reasoning and gotdown to business. “I’m going to callhim. He can probably get to you infifteen minutes. It will take me closeto an hour.” Using her official tone,she explained, “I’ll also radio aroundand find out if there are any otherpatrollers in your vicinity.”

I hung up the phone and watchedthe snow melt around my butt. If Iweren’t in such a bad situation, Iwould have laughed as steam rosebetween my legs. I couldn’t believethis was happening to me. Didn’t Ihave another three weeks to pre-pare? Wasn’t I supposed to be insunny California delivering this baby,not on a mountain face miles fromcivilization and near the ContinentalDivide?

Deciding it was better to keepbusy than think about my predica-ment, I started to take my snow-shoes off. Before I could reach forthe bindings, a contraction was uponme. The pain rolled through myabdominal area and around my hips.I cried out so loudly, the birds in thetrees above me stopped tweetingand flew away.

When it was over, I fell back intothe snow and looked up at the sky,panting heavily. As puffs of mist cov-ered my face, I noticed an angrycloud rolling off Mount Glory wascovering the crystal blue vista.

“Mila, please get here soon,” Ipleaded into the wind. But it wasn’tlistening. It was completely happypushing the dark clouds over myhead. For a moment I thought aboutwalking out by myself, but anothercontraction engulfed me, and I knew

I wasn’t going anyplace without help.“Holly,” a voice called from above.“Holly,” Edward said again.“Here,” I croaked and peeled my

hand off my belly to wave at him.Within a minute, he was on top of

me. Stopping next to where I laid andsending a mini-avalanche cascadingdown the mountain. “You okay?” myformer boyfriend asked, concernwritten all over his rosy cheeks andfrostbitten nose.

“I’m fine,” I lied. “It’s just that thebaby is coming and I don’t think I canwalk out because of the contrac-tions.”

He put his hand on my belly. “Iknew he was coming,” he said with asmile. “Last night he told me hewanted out of there.”

“When you boys were having thattalk,” I countered. I was feeling betternow that I had company and wasbetween contractions. “Couldn’t youhave said something like—” Istopped speaking as I made myvoice deep like Edward’s. “Son, onthe side of a mountain is not a goodplace to make your appearance inthe world.”

Edward pulled his gloves off. “Itwas after you were asleep,” hedefended himself. “We had to keep itdown because we didn’t want towake you up.” He placed his handsunder my jacket and on my belly.

“You’re cold,” I said, squirmingaway.

“I’m telling him to stay in there a lit-tle longer.” He rolled his lower lipbetween his teeth. “Just until we canget you to the hospital.”

“I don’t think he’s listening to you,”I moaned through gritted teeth asanother contraction came over me.

“Breathe,” Edward suggested,ignoring my comment. “Deepbreaths,” he said as he got behindme and supported my back andhead against his chest.

When it was over, he looked at hiswatch. “One-thirty-two,” he noted.“The doctors will want to know howfar apart they are when we get to thehospital,” he said in a very involvedway. When I made my decision to goto California, never in a million yearsdid I think Edward would be interest-ed in this baby. I completely misreadthe situation.

Three contractions later, Milaarrived and chastised me for goingsnowshoeing alone. Edward nodded

in agreement as I was loaded ontothe toboggan, covered with tarpsand tied down. As I sledded downthe mountain, the two of them had agreat time telling me what a dummy Iwas, with Edward reassuring our sonthat I wasn’t always like this.

When the next contraction rippedthrough my body two minutes earlierthan expected, they shut up and gotto work. Within minutes they had meat the road and loaded into theambulance. Edward rode to the hos-pital in the back with me and showedup in the delivery room wearing amask and scrubs. He said seeing hisson born was even better than win-ning gold last year.

After it was over, I laid in my hospi-tal bed, exhausted with my newbornbaby at my breast. Edward sat nextto us, and every time the dooropened, he used his broad shouldersto shield us from some imaginarythreat. Usually it was a nurse and hewould back up, but when Mila cameby, he wouldn’t budge. I guess herwords that morning about stayingthe course made him nervous.

Once she was gone, he gatheredthe baby and me into his arms.“We’ve got to make this work,” hewhispered. He held our son’s foot inthe palm of his hand and looked at itlike it was a rare gem. Then heleaned over and kissed the tiny bigtoe. “I don’t want to give him up,” helooked at me solemnly, his eyessearching my face.

“Are you sure we can do this?” Iasked.

He kissed the baby on the fore-head and then me. “Yes,” was hisfirm reply. “I don’t want him to beanyone else’s gift,” he said with tearsin his eyes. “He is ours, and we willmake it work, no matter what.” Hesqueezed my hand with the decisive-ness of a man who knew what hewanted out of life.

That day, I took a leap of faith withEdward, and it was the best decisionI ever made. Yes, life is hard for us.We don’t have a lot of money, but wehave each other, and that’s all thatcounts. We named our lovely babyboy Noel, and the joy he brings uswas worth giving up everything else.Someday I’ll go back to ski patrol,but right now I want to be with myfamily—wherever that is in theworld.♥

TR19

TR20

Winter Love Affair

I hit a patch of ice and screamed, gripping the steering wheel. My knuckles were as white asthe snow falling outside. The car skidded, and then spun in a circle while my heart was thump-ing and bumping in my chest. I pressed my foot on the brake, but I had no control over thevehicle. My little car whirled right off the road and into a ditch.

The impact threw me into the steering wheel. The wipers swooshed back and forth, and theradio played on as I sat there, stunned. I slumped forward and started crying. What am I doinghere? A Florida girl does not belong in the tundra! But love makes you do funny things, likemove to upstate New York from the Deep South. Not that I was in love anymore. That rela-tionship fizzled fast. And now here I was—stuck, in more ways than one.

I allowed myself a few more tears, wiped my face with the back of my hand, and grabbedmy cell from my purse to call for help. A knock on my window made me jump. I rolled it down.

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“Are you all right?” A guy aboutthirty, probably the same age as me,peered into my window.

My lip trembled. “I. . .I’m not hurt.But I don’t know about my car.”

He opened the door for me. “Youdidn’t hit anything, you just spun out.I think your car’s fine. We just gottaget you out of there.”

“I was just about to call for a towtruck.” I shoved my hands in mypockets and my teeth started chat-tering.

“Let me see if I can get her out foryou. That’s just a little ditch. I’ve gotsome floor mats we can slide underthere; maybe that’ll give us enoughtraction.” He smiled, and dimplespuckered his cheeks, which werepink from the cold.

“Seriously? I don’t want to keepyou from anything.” Kind and cute?What an unlikely combination.

He shrugged. “I can’t leave youhere by yourself.” The snow wasfalling harder, clinging to his longeyelashes. His dark hair curled underhis hat. He jogged back to his truckand pulled out two large floor mats.He wedged them behind my reartires and hopped in the driver’s seat.

I walked back toward his truck andwrapped my arms around myself. Icrossed my fingers, hoping he couldget the car out of there.

The tires spun in the snow, and thefloor mats popped out and flew backa few feet. He got back out, grabbedthe mats, and wedged them undertighter. This time, he pressed the gaslightly and rocked the car up and outof the ditch.

My headlights illuminated thesnow falling in the late afternoondusk. I ran up to my car. “I can’tthank you enough! This is my firstwinter driving, and it’s a lot morechallenging than I imagined.” Ireached my hand out to thank him.

He shook it, and then wrappedboth of his hands around mine.“You’re freezing. Where are yourgloves?”

I shrugged, a little unnerved by theway his hands engulfed mine; hewas a big guy. I felt oddly protectedby him.

I grimaced. “I forgot them.”He laughed and shook his head.

“Right, your first winter. Where areyou from?”

“Florida. I’m still getting used tobundling up every time I leave the

house. And today, it wasn’t snowingwhen I left.”

He let go of my hand and rubbedhis chin. “That’s lake effect snow foryou. It can pop up without warningas long as the lake isn’t frozen. And itwon’t be frozen for a while.”

I looked up at the big gray cloudsdumping snow on us. “When do youthink it’s going to let up? I don’texactly feel confident driving homeright now.”

“Not anytime soon. Listen, there’sa little diner right down the street.What do you say we grab a cup ofcoffee, warm up, and wait for thesnow to taper off?”

“Sure, my treat.” I hopped in mycar and followed him about a miledown the road. I still felt a little shakyand was glad to put my car in parkand dash into the diner.

A hostess led us to a booth, and weslid onto the black leather seats andboth ordered a coffee. “I’m CorrineLisbon, by the way. Tampa, Floridatransplant and horrible winter dri-ver.”

“I’m Tate Bellinger. Lived here inOrchard Park all my life. Whatbrought you up north from Tampa?”

I frowned and snapped open mymenu. “A guy.”

Tate leaned back. “Oh.”I looked up. “Oh, no. We broke up

four months ago. Right after I got asemi-decent job at an ad agency.And here I am, all alone.” I had metRod on a Caribbean cruise with mygirlfriends, and we started thissteamy, long distance affair. Sixmonths later, we decided to givethings a try. He had a job as ateacher up here and didn’t want togive up what he’d earned toward hispension, so we decided I shouldmove up north. I moved in with himand found a job. Three months later,I realized it had been a bad moveand got my own place.

Tate clucked his tongue andshook his head. “Ugh, that’s tough.You move up here for a guy and hebreaks up with you?” Tate’s big blueeyes widened in sympathy.

“No, actually I broke up with him.Living with someone is a whole lotdifferent than long distance phonecalls and romantic weekends visitingeach other.” I shrugged. “I’m plan-ning to move back to Tampa once Ican find a job down there. I’ve got

some resumes out, we’ll see. Todaykind of sealed the deal. I can’t takethe winter. TGIF is all I’ve got to say.I’m going to need the whole week-end to recover.”

“Have you done anything fun yet?I think winter is great. Sure, the dri-ving can be tricky, but there’s somuch to do outdoors.” His facebrightened just talking about it.

The waitress brought our coffees,and we ordered burgers for dinner.

“No, careening into the ditch is theonly adventure I’ve had with the out-doors so far.” I grinned over my cof-fee, happy my heart was finally slow-ing down after the spinout. Although,the way Tate was grinning back atme made it speed up again.

“Well, then after your driving les-son tomorrow in the empty schoolparking lot, you’re going snowmobil-ing with me.” He brought out thekiller grin again.

“I am? I’m taking a driving lesson?And I’m going snowmobiling?”

“You are. I can show you how todrive in the snow, how to get out of askid. Then, I’ll show you how muchfun snow can be. What do you say?”He raised one eyebrow.

Hmm, sitting home feeling sorryfor myself, watching the snow pileup, or hanging out with my hot heroman? “Sure. That would be great. Ifit’s no trouble.”

“No trouble at all. I’ll be keepingthe streets safe and all,” he teased.

We each downed two more cof-fees and shared a piece of lemonmeringue pie. Two hours had passedand the snow finally died down. I hada nice time learning about his job at abank, where he was quickly movingup the ranks. And he talked endless-ly about his golden retriever, Benny,and his nieces and nephews, whomhe adored.

“Do you want me to follow youhome to make sure you get there allright?” Tate asked.

“I live about ten minutes away. Areyou sure it’s not a bother?” I twistedmy hands in my lap.

“I live right around the corner fromhere. Not a problem at all.”

“Okay, well just to warn you, I’mgoing to be driving very, very slow-ly.”

“See, you’re learning already.That’s the first rule: If there’s snow,you must go slow.”

Tate insisted on paying the bill, soTR22


I planned to bake him a batch ofcookies that night. Not like I had any-thing else to do on a Friday night. Hehelped me into my car and followedme out of the parking lot onto thefreshly plowed road. It felt niceknowing Tate was behind me.

I pulled in the driveway of myapartment building and Tate hoppedout. He walked me to my door.“Okay, so I’ll meet you here tomor-row, let’s say after lunch? How aboutone o’clock?”

“Sure. I really appreciate it, Tate.I’d probably still be stuck in the ditchif it weren’t for you. You’re my hero.”I felt like popping up on my toes tokiss his cheek, but I didn’t. Instead, Ireached for his hand and squeezedit.

He grinned. “It’s not often we menget to flex our knight-in-shining-armor muscles. I was happy to help.”He shrugged. “I would have helpedanybody who slid off the road. It justturned out my driver in distress wasa lovely damsel.” He wiggled hiseyebrows and I giggled. “Wear yourgloves tomorrow. And please tell meyou have warm boots.”

“I have cute boots,” I offered.“Wear a couple pairs of socks,

then. See you tomorrow, Corrine.”I let myself in my apartment and

looked out the window. I watchedhim walk back to his car, wishing ournight hadn’t ended so early.

After bundling up in a hat, severalscarves, and putting long underwearon under my jeans, I realized it’s hardlooking cute and staying warm at thesame time. I was dressed and wait-ing for Tate when he rang the bell atone. My heart sped up a bit, and Iwondered if he’d felt the sameattraction I did the day before. Andthen I panicked, wondering if I hadbeen attracted to him just becausehe saved me. Would he seem differ-ent to me the next day?

I opened the door, and Tatesmiled. Nope. Major attraction stillthere, I thought, relieved.

“You ready?” he asked.“Not at all. But I’m willing to give it

a shot. And here,” I handed him theplate of cookies. “A little thank youfor yesterday.”

“Ah, the way to a man’s heart isthrough his stomach. I’m easy thatway.”

I laughed and climbed into my car,

really looking forward to our daytogether. I followed Tate to the highschool across town. He took thewheel of my car and purposely sentit spinning into a donut, as he calledit. I gripped the door handle andwhimpered.

“You don’t want to pump thebrake because you have anti-lockbrakes that do the pumping for you,but you could possibly prevent thisby turning the wheel into the direc-tion of the skid before you startgoing out of control like this.”

Tate was very patient, explaininghis driving tips to me when I took thewheel. He reached over severaltimes and corrected the wheel forme. It was hard concentrating withhim so close to me. He smelled a lit-tle like pine trees mixed with a warm,smoky scent. When I was finally ableto pull myself out of a skid after sev-eral tries, I stopped the car and hesmiled at me. “Congratulations. Youshould be able to stay out of ditchesfor the rest of your stay here inWestern New York.”

I grinned. “Thanks. You are anexcellent teacher.”

“Now the fun part. You ready toride?”

I stared at him for a moment andthen shook my head, suddenlyremembering. “Oh, right. The snow-mobile. Will I be okay in jeans andlong underwear?”

He frowned. “And those littleboots with the heel? No. Let’s stopat the sporting goods store and getyou some snow pants and decentboots. That’s half your problem,dealing with the snow. You weren’tprepared for winter.”

“I didn’t exactly have anyone tohelp me.”

“Stupid ex-boyfriend of yours.Although, I’m glad he was stupid.”He put his hand on my shoulder.“Good thing I came along,” heteased.

I looked up at him, that I-want-to-kiss-you-feeling taking over again.“I’m glad you did come along.”

We drove to the store, boughtboots that cost way more than theyshould have for something so ugly,and drove back to his place. It was acute little ranch house settled farback from the road, surrounded bywoods. I slipped on my new bootsand snow pants. Then Tate led me to

his garage, where he proudly uncov-ered his snowmobile.

He patted the hood. “My baby. Mynumber one favorite thing to do inthe winter.”

“Where do you ride this? On theroad?”

“Oh, my little Florida girl, you’rekilling me. Nope, there’s a system oftrails across the area where you canride. Farmers and landowners whodon’t care if we ride across theirproperty.” He handed me a helmet.

“I need a helmet?”“We go fast.”“How fast?”He grinned and fastened his hel-

met. “You’ll see.”

This is really fast!” I screamed aswe zoomed along the trail behind hishouse.

He turned back to me. “No, it’snot. Hang on!” And with that, hedoubled his speed.

I screamed again and hung on formy life. But once I realized that heknew what he was doing, I enjoyedmyself. The woods were beautifuland sparkling with the fresh coat ofsnow. We rode for an hour or so, andTate parked the snowmobile at asmall tavern. “I thought you coulduse a break,” he said.

“We’re going to go inside likethis?” I asked, gesturing to my stu-pid, bulky outfit.

“Yeah, there’re other sleds here.There’ll be other riders. Come on.There’s a fire inside. We’ll grab abeer.”

I took off my helmet, thinking ofhow frightening I must look. Weordered a beer and settled in abooth. I quickly forgot about my hel-met head. I was surprisingly relaxedaround this guy.

“So, what did you think?” Tateasked.

“I was really scared at first, but itwas fun. I’m shocked. I didn’t think Icould ever enjoy being out in thesnow.”

“See? And you haven’t even triedskiing or sledding or ice skating,have you?”

“Nope.”He set down his beer. “What about

building a snowman?”I shook my head.“Snow angels?”“I haven’t done anything outside. TR


Christmas MagicI fell in love one Christmastime;I never thought I would,But fate kindly intervenedAnd really thought I should.

He was a handsome man, youknow. . .Chin straight as it could be.His eyes so warm, I melted,Every time he looked at me.

He caught me near the mistletoe;I thought that I would faint,But in reality, I knewThat I had no complaint.

I think back to that Christmastime;How special could it be?We fell in love forevermore,When he asked to marry me.

Each Christmas, I’m remindedOf the magic Christmas brings.Two people falling deep in love;To my heart that image clings.

—Elinor Filice

Mother MakesSweet ChristmMemoriesMemories, sweet memories—What precious bonds they are,For they keep us closeIn heart and thoughtWhether we’re near or far.

Memories are so preciousThat they’re treasured lovinglyAnd each recall a ChristmastimeIn days that used to be.

The family around the table,The presents, big and small,The laughter and the merriment,The spirit of it all.

Each one recalls a holidayJust perfect through and through,And looking back, it’s plain to seeSo much of it was you!

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A BeautifulThoughtA heavy white blanketOf snow on the groundA wintry nightWith nary a soundA silvery moonShining on highLighting the heavensWay up in the skyThis portrait of winterFor those who believeIs welcomed with joyEach Christmas Eve.

—Marlene Klotz

GreatExpectationsFrom out of the midnight sky—that inky-black mystery—float huge, fluffy snowflakes.Sound begins to fade, muffledby the quickly forming blue-whitecrystalline cloak, which brightensand bejewels the landscape.It is Christmas Eve.Such a reverential hush is morethan welcomeand beyond peacefully pic-turesque.The event approaches allegory,reenacts,reassures that Heaven’s purity canreach—has reached—our lives.A cleansing purity, destined toreturn.On this silent, holy night, I standtransfixed, fully expecting love.

—Jill Marie Bonnier

Love Poetry Love Poetry

TR24

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I’ve pretty much been countingdown the days until winter’s over.”

He rolled his eyes. “Oh, you’ve gota lot of catching up to do.”

I grinned at him over my beer.“Okay. I’m game for anything.”

He lifted an eyebrow. “Then weneed to get you back to my placepronto.”

I blushed. “That didn’t come outexactly like I meant it.”

“Oh, I know exactly what youmeant. Come on.”

We returned to the snowmobileand started driving back. I clung tohim, wondering what he thought wasgoing to happen back at his house. Iwas attracted to him, no doubt aboutit. But I wasn’t sure I was ready forany indoor sports just yet. I mean, Ijust met him the day before. Thenagain, it had been a lonely fewmonths since I’d left Rod.

We hopped off his snowmobile,and my heart was pounding just ashard as when I slid off the road. Tatetook me by the hand and led metoward his house. Then he fell back-ward in the snow and started flinginghis arms and legs around. “Comeon, you can’t go through life withoutmaking a snow angel.”

I laughed and fell into the snow,swishing my arms back and forth. Igiggled like a silly girl lying on theground. Tate packed a handful ofsnow together and tossed it at me.

I scrambled to my knees andthrew handfuls back at him, but thesnow just broke apart. Tate’s snow-balls were well packed and firm asthey slammed into me. “Why areyours so good?”

He came over and showed mehow to pack a snowball—which Ipromptly threw at him. We playedaround a little bit more, but then myteeth started chattering. “Can we goinside for a little while?”

“Yeah, your cheeks are red. We’llsave the snowman for another day.”

Well, that certainly warmed me upa bit. He was thinking ahead toanother day?

We went inside, and Tate built aroaring fire. He made hot chocolatewith little marshmallows bobbing ontop. We curled up on the couch, and

I told him about growing up inFlorida—the long days spent at thebeach and our sweltering summers.The sun had slipped from the sky,and I wanted to stay inside his warmcozy house where I felt safe andtucked in for the night.

“Wanna stay and watch a movie? Ithink there are a couple good flickson cable tonight.” He put a movie onand got us each a glass of wine. Thistime when he sat down, it was rightnext to me.

I took a long sip of my wine, hop-ing to gather up a bit of courage. Iset it down and leaned toward him. “Idon’t really want to watch a movie,” Iwhispered.

He set his drink down, and his lipsmet mine. A shiver that had nothingto do with the cold night racedthrough me. Remaining on thecouch, his hands tangled throughmy hair and he pulled me on top ofhim. The movie had ended by thetime we came up for air.

“Wow,” I said.He grinned at me, looking

absolutely adorable, with his hair allrumpled. “Yeah. Wow.” Then helooked out the window and his eye-brows knitted together. “It’s reallycoming down. I’m not so sure youshould drive home.”

His window was covered in white,and the wind was howling. I bit mylip.

He held up his hands. “I’m not try-ing to force you to stay over or doanything you don’t want to do. I justthink that looks like a nasty storm. Ican let you sleep in my bed, and I’lltake the couch.”

“You’re six-foot-five. You wouldn’tfit on this couch. I’ll sleep on thecouch. Or. . .” I didn’t know if it wasbecause of all the new things I’dtried that day, or the wine, or the wayI felt so safe in his arms on this cold,stormy night, but I proposed anotheridea. “Or, we could share the bed.Just sleeping. I don’t usually movethat fast.”

He wrapped his arm around me.“You’re not trying to tease me, areyou? That’s going to be mightytempting. Keeping my hands tomyself?” He smirked, and I knew hewas teasing me.

I smirked back. “I didn’t say youhad to keep your hands to yourself.”

He laughed and grabbed my hand,leading me out of the family room

and toward his bedroom. “I’ll do mybest, Corrine.”

He tossed me an old T-shirt towear for pajamas, and opened a newtoothbrush for me. It was verystrange crawling into his bed; I hadjust met him last night. But I reallyliked this guy, and I wanted nothingmore than to fall asleep in his armsand feel safe: from the storm, fromthis strange new place, from thelonely life I’d been leading.

So, we didn’t get much sleepingdone the first hour or so, but eventu-ally after more kissing and talking, hewrapped his two big arms aroundme and pulled me against him.

We spent the next few weekendstogether exploring the outdoors:cross-country skiing, ice skating ona pond near his house, buildingsnowmen. We talked during theweek and went out for dinner andmovies. I guess you could say wewere dating. I wasn’t seeing anyoneelse, and I didn’t think he was either.I had wanted to keep things casualsince I was planning on moving backto Tampa. But I was falling for Tate—big time. And I was also falling in lovewith winter, go figure.

I was getting ready on a Fridayafter work for some late night snow-tubing when the phone rang. It wassix o’clock, and I hoped Tate wasn’tcanceling. He’d caught a cold andwas feeling a bit under the weather.

But it wasn’t Tate. It was the cre-ative director from an advertisingagency in Tampa. “We’d like to flyyou down for an interview,” thewoman told me.

My heart sank. “Really?” I hoped Isounded more excited than I felt.

“Yes, I’d like you to call my assis-tant on Monday to make travelarrangements. We were veryimpressed with your resume,Corrine.”

Tate rang my bell right after I hungup. I tried to force a smile for him, buthe narrowed his eyes at me. “What’swrong?”

I opened my mouth to say,“Nothing,” but I burst out into tearsinstead.

He pulled me over to the couchand sat me down. “Hey, it’s going tobe all right no matter what it is.” Herubbed my back as I tried to regainmy composure.

“I just got a call from an ad agencyTR26

Winter Love Affair(Continued from page 23)

in Tampa. They want to fly me downfor an interview.”

His hand stilled on my back. “Oh.Really. . .” He looked off, out the win-dow. “I’d like to say that’s great, butI don’t want you to go. Corrine, I. ..really care about you.”

“Me too.” I sniffed and nodded. “Idon’t want to go either. But it’s areally great opportunity. If thingsdon’t work out between us, I mightregret not going.”

He nodded. “I totally understand,especially after what happened withyour last boyfriend. I don’t want tobe your decision maker here. You dowhat you think is best for you—whatyou want to do.” He shrugged.“Maybe the long distance thingwould work for us. Heck, I wouldn’tmind visiting Tampa.”

I swallowed hard and nodded.“So, let’s just go tonight and not talkabout this anymore, okay?”

“Okay.”But things were strange between

us the rest of the night. We had ablast zooming down this giant hill onbig black inner tubes under brightspotlights illuminating the night. Buton the ride home, we were bothsilent. “Come in and stay with metonight,” I said quietly.

He grabbed my hand andsqueezed it. “Okay.”

Tate held me and stroked my hairas I quietly cried in bed. Somehowhe knew it was best not to talk. I fellasleep in his arms and dreamed wewere skating and I fell through theice. I reached for him, but couldn’tgrab his hand.

I woke with a start, sobbing andpanting.

Tate sat up and pulled me into ahug. “Hey, you’re okay. Everything’sfine. It was just a bad dream.”

I shook my head. “No it’s not.Everything is not fine. I’m going to bewithout you. It’s not going to be okayat all.”

He was quiet for a moment andscratched his head. “So, you’vedecided to go.”

I shrugged. “I at least have to go tothe interview.”

He nodded and settled back on hispillow.

I reached for his hand and tried tofall back asleep. I guess I was tooscared of having that dream again. Iwas up until dawn.

But I must have fallen asleep,because I woke to a heavenly scentfrom the kitchen. Tate had madebreakfast. “We’re going to spendevery minute together this weekend.If you’re leaving, then I better enjoyyou while you’re here.”

We spent a great weekend on hissnowmobile and playing outsidewith his dog. On Monday morning, Imade my arrangements to fly downto Tampa that Thursday. We didn’ttalk about it for the rest of the week,until he drove me to the airport.

“Well, I guess I should say goodluck,” he said.

“So say it.”“Good luck—figuring out what you

want.” He kissed my head, and I filedinto the security line. My heartdropped when I watched him walkaway.

Eighty thousand dollars?” I asked,trying to stay calm.

“Yes. Plus benefits, of course. Sowhat do you say?” the directorasked me over dinner.

I swallowed hard. “May I have aday to think this over, and call youwhen I get home?”

“Absolutely. But we’d like a deci-sion by the middle of next week. Weneed to fill this position,” she said.

Eighty thousand dollars was twicewhat I was making in New York. Andit was back in Tampa where mymother was still living, and my oldfriends. But it was missing one bigthing—Tate.

Tate picked me up from the air-port, and I couldn’t look him in theeye. Maybe if things were furtheralong in our relationship, I’d feelcomfortable staying in New York tobe with him, but it’s only been threemonths.

“So, I’m guessing it went well,” hesaid as he drove me home.

I nodded. “They offered me thejob. It pays very, very well.”

He squeezed my knee. “It soundslike you should take it. You know, Icould always find a job down there, ifthings keep going well.”

I looked up at him. “You’d movefor me?”

“Heck yeah. I love you, Corrine.”He seemed just as surprised as I wasby his words.

“But you love it here, too,” I said,once I recovered.

He shrugged. “I can try something

new. I like water skiing and fishing.But really, I could be happy any-where, as long as it was with you.”

“All your friends and family arehere. You wouldn’t see your niecesand nephews,” I argued. “Your fami-ly is much bigger than mine. Andyou’re up for another promotion atthe bank. You’d be giving up somuch.” Why, oh why, did he have topull me out of that ditch? He shouldhave left me miserable and alone. Itwould’ve been a lot easier on myheart.

He just sighed.“Let’s just go home and not talk

about this.”“Your home or mine?” he asked.And that’s when I realized that I

thought of home being wherever hewas. Home wasn’t a place; it was aperson. It was Tate. “Yours. I missyour dog. And Tate?”

“Yeah, honey?”“I love you, too.”The grin that split his face was

probably the most beautiful thing I’dever seen.

We spent that night not talkingabout the job. But in the morning, I’dmade my decision. “Hey.” He wassleeping, but I poked him with myfinger.

He opened one groggy eye andsmiled. “Hey. You’re still here.”

I nodded. “And I will be. I’m nottaking the job.”

He sat up, and that killer smile wasback. “Why not?”

“You were willing to give up every-thing you have here to give Tampa achance. To give me a chance. But Idon’t want you to do that. I like ithere with you. I like this new life, thechange of seasons.” I shrugged.“And besides, I bought those expen-sive snow boots. What am I going todo with those down in Tampa?”

He laughed and pulled me into ahug. And I know he’d never admit toit, but I felt his tears against mycheeks as he held me.

I had a hard time dialing the agencyin Tampa to give them my decision.However, four months later, I had amuch, much easier time with a differ-ent decision—Tate had asked me tomarry him.

It was a winter wedding the follow-ing year, of course. And my weddinggift: my very own snowmobile!♥

TR27

TR28

The PerfectTree

How about this one?” Chrissie gestured toward a towering Douglas fir with perfectly shaped limbs.“I thought you wanted a Charlie Brown Christmas tree?” I said, pushing the pom-pom of my Santa

hat out of my eyes for what felt like the hundredth time.Chrissie pulled a ratty looking, slightly used tissue out of her coat pocket, dabbed at her nose, and

said, “Well, I thought I did, until I saw all these perfect trees. Now I want a huge tree, festooned withgarlands—”

“Festooned?” I said, giggling.“Yeah, you know, with garlands draped all over it.”“I know what festooned means. I’ve just never heard anyone use it in conversation before.”Laughing now, Chrissie persisted, “Really, how much do you think this one is?”“I don’t know. Do they sell them by height or weight?”“Weight?” repeated Chrissie, and realizing the absurdity of my question, I started to giggle again.“Height,” said a deep voice behind us. Shoving the furry white pom-pom out of my eyes yet again,

I turned to see who spoke. Whoa, serious hotness here. He was tall with dark, curly hair, dark eyes,and well-fitting jeans that accentuated his long, muscular legs. “That one’s about eight feet, so prob-ably a hundred bucks.”

“A hundred bucks!” echoed Chrissie. “Maybe a Charlie Brown Christmas tree would be best for meafter all.”

“You can still festoon it with garlands,” I suggested, setting us both off on another round of laugh-ter.

The man squinted at us slightly,and if I wasn’t mistaken, he looked abit annoyed. He said in a clippedvoice, “When you decide on a tree,let me know.”

“Well, who put a bug up his so-very-fine ass?” Chrissie asked as hewalked away, and neither of us couldhelp ogling that part of his body.

“Who knows?” I said, shoving thedamned fuzzball out of my eyes yetagain. But I felt slightly deflated andfoolish. The wine we’d had with din-ner may have made us a bit giddy.We were probably acting obnoxious.

“So, where’s the bargain depart-ment of Big Tom’s Christmas treelot?” Chrissie asked, and we headedtoward a group of smaller trees.

After debating until I thought myfingers would freeze and fall off—while also wanting to take off myridiculous Santa hat but not beingable to due to the warmth it provid-ed—Chrissie and I agreed on aslightly lopsided five foot tree thatwould look perfect in the corner ofher living room.

“So, how do we move this damnedthing?” Chrissie asked.

“I’m not sure. . .maybe if you holdit at the bottom, while I pull the toptoward me?” Chrissie began tiltingthe tree in my direction. She was abit too forceful though, and the treeand I landed in a pile on the snowyparking lot.

“Oh no, are you okay?” Chrissieasked, running to my side.

“I’m fine, just wet. And coveredwith pine needles.”

“Let me get it.” Suddenly Mr.Grouchy Good-Ass was at our side,effortlessly lifting the tree off me andonto his shoulder.

Chrissie hauled me to my feet, andI brushed the rapidly melting snowoff my butt as we followed Chrissie’stree to the front of the lot. She did animpersonation of the Christmas treehandler (what were they called?) butmy good humor had dissipated asquickly as the snow had melted offmy jeans.

“I like your hat,” said Mr. GrouchyGood-Ass as Chrissie proffered hertwenty-five dollars for the CharlieBrown tree.

“Ha, ha,” I said, thinking that hewas making fun of my campy, leop-ard-spotted Santa hat.

“No really, I do.” He smiled, andboth Chrissie and I nearly dissolved

into the pile of snow.

A week later I was back at thesame Christmas tree lot, this timewith my friend Pam.

“The cheaper ones are over here,”I tugged on Pam’s puffy down coat.

“Oh, I don’t want a cheap one,”Pam sniffed, and I knew it wasn’t thefrigid temperatures that gave her thesniffles. “I’m having a party onChristmas Eve, so I need a reallynice one.”

“Of course,” I adopted a haughtytone. “Let’s go this way then.”

As we passed a family admiring aparticularly tall tree, I noticed Mr.Grouchy Good-Ass with them. Iadmired his jeans and the somewhatsnug sweater he wore under a downvest. To my embarrassment, hecaught me staring and smiled.“Where’s your Santa hat?”

I can’t believe he remembers me.“Oh, she left it in the car,” Pam

chimed in absentmindedly. “Someguy made fun of it last time she washere.”

I wanted to hide behind a largepine.

“Really? That’s too bad. It lookedcute on her.” He turned away, seam-lessly resuming his conversationwith the all-American family.

I nudged Pam in the ribs—hard—just as soon as we were out of hear-ing distance. “That’s Mr. GrouchyGood-Ass,” I muttered.

“The guy who made fun of yourhat? He didn’t seem so bad. You’reright about his butt, though. Prettydarned impressive,” Pam said in anoffhanded manner and, self-absorbed as she could sometimesbe, she immediately launched intoan analysis of how each tree wouldlook in her far larger and grander(than Chrissie’s) living room.

Once again, Mr. Grouchy Good-Ass took the money for the tree andstrapped it to the roof of Pam’s car.“See you later, Leopard Santa,” hesaid as he waved us away.

The next time I visited Big Tom’stree lot was just a few days later, butit was getting close to Christmas, sothe lot was noticeably busier. Plus, agentle snow was falling, not enoughto make the roads treacherous, butpretty enough to make you feel likeyou were in a snow globe. If youcould ignore the fact that you were

standing in the middle of animmense parking lot in a sprawlinganonymous shopping center in themiddle of suburbia.

Mr. Grouchy Good-Ass was strap-ping a tree to the top of a minivanwhen my friend, Matt, and I got outof his Prius. He nodded to me, and Icould feel his gaze follow us as wewalked into the lot. I was wearing myleopard Santa hat again as a sort oftest to see if he really liked it, or if hewas secretly ridiculing me.

“So that’s the Christmas tree hot-tie you’ve been talking about?” Mattasked as he examined a medium-sized tree.

“Yeah,” I said, keeping my voicelow in case Mr. Grouchy Good-Asshad superhuman hearing.

“He does have a nice butt, but doyou think Christmas tree attendantsmake any money?”

I scrunched my nose. “Not sure. Itis kind of a seasonal job, isn’t it?He’s here all the time, too.”

“Maybe he’s moonlighting, tryingto earn extra money to buy gifts forhis five children.”

“Ha, ha,” I said, shaking thebranches of another tree and watch-ing needles fall to the snow-coveredpavement. “This one’s kind of dry.”

“You should be an expert by now.I think you’re our only repeat cus-tomer.”

I was startled. When had Mr.Grouchy Good-Ass snuck up behindus?

“What kind of tree are you lookingfor today?” he continued.

Matt straightened and squared hisshoulders, looking almost. . .butch.What was he doing?

“I’m looking for a tree about fivefeet tall, but kind of—” he held hishands slightly more than shoulder-width apart, “wide, er, kind of squat.”

“Okay,” said Mr. Grouchy Good-Ass. “You’re in the right generalarea. Any preference as to treetype?”

At Matt’s bidding, the lot attendantbegan a lengthy description of thekinds of trees and their attributesand shortcomings—it was some-what interesting. I noticed that hewas well-spoken, and of course, Itook the opportunity to examine himmore closely. No wedding ring. I hadto get that out of the way first—thatway I’d know if I was just window-shopping or actually browsing. As

TR30

usual, he wore jeans—not tight, butform fitting enough so that one couldappreciate the attribute by which heearned his moniker—and a downvest, with a cable-knit sweaterunderneath. Tonight a watch capcovered his dark curls, but he wore itwell. I loved hats, but that was a hardstyle to pull off. I could never wearone without feeling extremely unat-tractive.

As if he read my thoughts, Mattsaid, “Tiara, what do you think of thisone?”

“Tiara?” echoed Mr. GrouchyGood-Ass. “That’s your name?” Hesuppressed a chuckle, and I wasthankful it wasn’t my name, or Iwould have been offended.

“No, but we call her Tiara becauseof her fondness for, um, interestingheadgear,” Matt explained, gestur-ing toward my leopard-print Santahat as I flipped the pom-pom out ofmy face. “Her name’s Teresa.”

“You don’t say.” Mr. GrouchyGood-Ass’ eyes crinkled as helooked at my hat.

“Yes. I’m Matt,” Matt said, thrust-ing his right hand out in an assertivemanner while looping his left armaround my waist, “and this is mygood friend, Tiara. But you can callher Teresa.”

His hand tightened, and he pulledme to him in a half-hug. Oh no, washe trying to make the lot attendantjealous? It was time for him tobehave in his most swishy manner,not play at being my boyfriend.

“Pleased to meet you,” Mr.Grouchy Good-Ass said, shakingMatt’s offered hand, “I’m Tom.”

“Tom. Does Big Tom only hirepeople with the same name as him?”

“I’m Big Tom.”Matt snorted and gave the former

Mr. Grouchy Good-Ass—currentlyknown as Big Tom—a once-over,“You’re not that tall. . .so what doesthe ‘big’ refer to?”

I elbowed Matt sharply in the ribs,thankful my Santa hat wasn’t the tra-ditional red—my face would bematching it if it were.

“My feet.” Big Tom put one bootedfoot forward for us to admire. “Justmy feet.”

As he added that little aside, heturned toward me and winked. If myface got any hotter, I’d turn the win-ter wonderland parking lot into agiant puddle.

His attempt at masquerading as astraight male with a Santa-hat wear-ing girlfriend apparently forgotten,Matt cooed, “I bet that’s not all that’sbig.”

“Matt!” I shouted, just as Big Tom,his face reddening, said, “About thattree?”

“Oh, that one’s perfect.” Mattpointed to the first tree we’d exam-ined. “It will look just darling with mycollection of Keepsake Ornaments.”

I smiled, and Big Tom grinned atme. “Shall I get the tree for you?”

Matt puffed out his chest andreplied, “Heck no. I can get it. I workout.”

I laughed as Big Tom raised hishands in an “I tried” gesture. “Noproblem. Go ahead.”

Matt made a production of hoist-ing the tree onto his shoulder andthrusting his butt out a bit more thanstrictly necessary—in my opinion, atleast. Smiling, I rolled my eyesbehind his back, Big Tom grinning inresponse. Staggering slightly as hestraightened, Matt quickly correctedhimself and headed toward his sleekhybrid.

My next trip to Big Tom’sChristmas tree lot came less than aweek later, late in the afternoon onthe day before Christmas. For somereason, I thought it might be busy,but when I pulled in the deserted lot,there were only two other vehicles—a pickup and a compact car, bothparked way off to one side.

I wore my traditional ChristmasEve outfit, although “traditional” wasa word only I would use to describeit. A hot pink Santa hat and matchingsatin skirt trimmed with light pinkvelvet along the bottom was justhow I celebrated the holiday of joyand light. It always garnered atten-tion—not always positive—but I feltlike a figure skater or one of the girlelves from Rudolph the Red-NosedReindeer in it.

As I approached the lot, Big Tomdisengaged himself from conversa-tion with a teenaged boy.

“Well, Tiara, you are looking fes-tive tonight,” he said with a smile.

“Where’s your Santa hat?” I coun-tered. Today, in deference to theslightly warmer temperatures, hewas hatless.

Running his fingers through hisdark curls, he said, “Left it in my

truck.“So are you finally here to buy a

tree for yourself?”“Er, no,” I replied. “I actually need

a kind of a big one for the nursinghome where I volunteer. I hadn’tbeen there in a while, and when Iwas there last night, I saw that theydidn’t even have a tree!”

“How big were you thinking?”“At least eight feet.”As we walked toward the bigger

trees, I suddenly felt slightly awk-ward. The other times I’d been here,I’d always had a friend along. Tryingto think of casual conversation, Isaid, “I thought you’d be busytoday.”

“No, Christmas Eve is usually pret-ty slow. The Saturday afterThanksgiving and all the weekendsin December are pretty hectic, but bynow, people usually have theirtrees.”

“My grandparents always waiteduntil Christmas Eve to get a treewhen my father was little. I think mygrandfather got good deals if hewaited late enough.”

Big Tom looked at me out of thecorner of his eye, “Are you hoping fora good deal?”

I flushed, “No, no, of course not! Iwas just, you know, making smalltalk. About why I thought you’d bebusier today.”

“Hmm, I see.” Big Tom—thinkingof him as Big Tom was certainly animprovement over Mr. GrouchyGood-Ass, but it still seemed odd—Tom, I corrected myself. “I thoughtyou’d be with your boyfriendtonight.”

“What boyfriend?”“The guy you were here with last

time.”“Matt?” I laughed. “Hardly. He’s

probably with his boyfriend tonight.”Smiling in response, Big Tom—

Tom—said, “I thought as much, but Iwanted to double check.”

I looked at him expectantly, hop-ing he’d finish his sentence with,“before I asked you out,” but insteadhe just stood there, allowing thesilence to grow. Finally, he grabbeda statuesque tree by its trunk. “Thisis a really nice tree. I can’t imaginewhy no one has bought it yet. Reallynice needles, nice shape, very fresh.What do you think?”

“It’s lovely,” I agreed, gulping. Likemany people, I was already dreading

TR31

my credit card bills come January.But then I thought about those elder-ly people in the nursing home.Christmas without a tree? I decidedI’d find a way to pay for the tree theydeserved. “Er, how much do youthink it would be?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I’m sure wecould work a deal.”

“No, really, I wasn’t hinting. I’ll paywhat it’s worth.”

He shrugged. “Most of these treesare headed for the shredder the dayafter tomorrow. I’d feel better ifsomeone could enjoy it. So, is it ayes?”

I hesitated no more than a second.“Yes, it’s beautiful.”

“Great,” he grinned. “I may actual-ly need my helper with this one.”

“Not a chest-beater like Matt?”He laughed, “The only workout

I’ve gotten this month is carryingChristmas trees around.”

I blushed, willing my mind out ofthe gutter, even as I thought, I’d liketo give you a workout.

The teenage boy, his jeans hang-ing low enough on his hips to reveala pair of reindeer-decorated boxers,helped Tom carry the tree to mysmall Toyota. Tom frowned at it.

“I hadn’t noticed how small yourcar is. There’s no way you can drivesafely with this huge tree on yourroof.”

I thought again of the nursinghome residents and their lonelyChristmas Eve. Biting my lip, I asked,“But can I drive at all?”

Tom looked from the car, to me,and back again. “Why don’t I takethe tree in my truck?”

“Don’t you need to stay here?” Tom looked around the empty

parking lot, the empty tree lot, andthen at me. He grinned, “No, I don’tthink so.” He motioned to theteenager. They each picked up anend of the tree and carried it over tothe pickup truck on the far side of thelot. He exchanged a few words withhis young employee and met me atmy car.

“So, why don’t you lead?”A thought had occurred to me

while I watched him chat with theyoung man. “What about yourhelper? Doesn’t he want to gethome? It’s Christmas Eve. . .”

Tom chuckled. “Not to worry.Nate’s Jewish, and I gave himHanukkah off. I told him to stay open

until eight, then lock the cash box inthe safe and go home.”

I led Tom to the Senior Center a fewmiles away. My grandmother hadlived there until her death a little overa year ago. A few months after herdeath, I thought about some of herfriends who had looked forward tomy visits—as well as all the peoplewho seemed to never have visitors—and I started volunteering. But I hadbeen shocked when I went the otherday and saw that the residents didn’teven have a Christmas tree. TheSenior Center’s administratorsclaimed budget cuts were responsi-ble, but I’d been appalled. I had toget them a Christmas tree. My trunkwas full of lights and ornaments I’dborrowed from my mother andfriends at work.

The residents were still at dinnerwhen we arrived, and Tom madequick work of getting the tree in itsstand—the advantage of having aprofessional as an assistant. Hewasn’t quite as impressive at puttingthe lights on the tree, but I supposedhis job didn’t necessarily give himextra practice with that, and we stillworked faster than I would havebeen able to by myself.

As we worked, we chatted.“So, what do you do the rest of the

year?” I couldn’t help asking. I’dbeen wondering about it since theday I discovered he was “Big Tom.”

“Well, owning a chain of Christmastree lots isn’t quite a year-round job,but you’d be surprised how muchwork it can be. I’m always having torenegotiate leases, visit Christmastree farms, arrange transport, hireemployees—but I do have a fewother business interests to keep mefrom getting bored. And I take a longvacation in January. I work fourteen-hour days for most of December,and I really need a break.”

For a minute, I imagined workinglong days every single day leadingup to Christmas and asked, “Do youeven still like Christmas?”

He took a deep breath and held it,finally exhaling several secondslater. “That’s what I like least aboutmy business. I try really hard, but Ihave days that I just start to hateChristmas. Or I resent all the happyfamilies that come in, knowing thatafter a long day at the lot, I have anempty house to go back to. I con-

fess, I was a little bit cranky the firsttime you came in. You and yourfriend were having such a good time,and I guess I was jealous.”

“Wow,” I said softly, “I never reallythought about what it would be liketo have a Christmas tree lot.”

He laughed. “It’s hardly up therewith fireman, doctor, or lawyer onany little boy’s list of what he wantsto be when he grows up. My great-uncle had one lot in the city, and Istarted helping him, and here I amtoday.”

“Was he Big Tom, too?” I lookedsidelong at him.

“No, he was Big Ed,” Tom retort-ed.

“Oh my gracious!” someoneexclaimed from the doorway, and weturned to see Dot, one of the nurses.“Teresa, did you bring this?”

Before I could respond, she shout-ed down the hall, “Lisa, come seewhat Teresa brought!”

A few seconds later, several nurs-es and nursing aides crowded thedoorway and residents were startingto make their slow path down thehall toward the community room.Tom and I had just finished stringingthe last strand of lights, and I stoodback to see how it looked. A littlebare with just the lights on, but beau-tiful nonetheless. I mouthed “thanks”to him as the residents entered theroom and began admiring the tree aswell. As intended, they started open-ing boxes of ornaments so thateveryone could help trim the tree.

“Teresa.” Dot walked over andstood next to me. “This was sosweet of you.”

“Don’t thank me,” I said. “Tomdonated the tree. I just provided thelights and decorations.”

“Don’t let Tiara—I mean, Teresa—be too self-effacing. She came to mylot looking for a tree, fully preparedto buy it. I just gave her a hefty dis-count.”

“You own a Christmas tree lot?” acrackly voice asked from the vicinityof my elbow. I looked down and sawGwyneth, a good friend of my grand-mother.

I gave her a half-hug as Tomreplied, “Yes, Big Tom’s.”

“You’re Big Tom?” Gwyneth gaveTom an unabashed up and downlook, lingering in the vicinity of hiscrotch, making the blood rush to myface.

TR32

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“My feet,” he gave his standardreply with a grin and a wink.

Gwyneth cackled, “No difference. Iknow damned well a man’s shoesize is a good indicator of the size ofhis—”

“Gwyneth!” I interrupted, tryingdesperately to think of a change ofsubject. “How’s your new bloodpressure medicine working out?”

“Not well at all when I’m looking ata young hottie like this,” Gwynethfanned herself while batting her eye-lashes at Tom.

Good Lord, I thought, wonderinghow to rescue Tom from an octoge-narian flirt. I opened my mouth to saysomething distracting, but nothingcame to mind. I hoped I didn’t looklike a fish. Before I could come upwith something, Gwyneth continued,“So does that make you Big Ed’sgrandson?”

“Great-nephew.”“Then I’m not embarrassed to say

that if you’re half the man Big Edwas, Teresa better hang on to you.”

Sheesh. I’d imagined myselfspending the evening sipping hotcocoa and singing Christmas carolswith a charming group of senior citi-zens, not trading tales of male organsize with my grandmother’s bestfriend. Not that I knew anything sopersonal about Tom, of course. Ididn’t even know his last name!

His eyebrows raised, Tom glancedtoward me before responding. “Do Iwant to know how you knew myuncle Ed?”

A smirk on her face, Gwynethsmoothed her tunic over her amplebosom—a demure gesture com-pletely inconsistent with her conver-sation. “How I knew him is no greatstory. We were in the same bridgegroup. How well I knew him. . .well,that’s another story.” And shegave Tom an exaggerated wink.

“Well, um, let me help trim thetree,” I said, desperate to extricatemyself from this embarrassing con-versation.

Gwyneth harrumphed. “No won-der you spend your spare time with abunch of old people, Teresa. Beforeyou know it, you’ll be sagging, bag-ging, and dragging, wishing you’denjoyed yourself more when youwere young.”

I kissed the top of Gwyneth’shead. “But I enjoy spending timewith you. Now I’m going to see about

decorating the tree Tom was kindenough to give us.”

I didn’t realize Tom had followedme until I heard his voice in my ear asI hung a sparkling disco-like bulb Iremembered from my childhood.“This really isn’t how I imagined I’dbe spending Christmas Eve.”

I sighed, thinking again about myvision of Christmas carols aroundthe piano with the nursing home res-idents. “I’m sorry I dragged you intothis.”

He took a step back and turnedme to face him. “Why?” he demand-ed. “I’m having a great time!”

“You are?”“Hell yeah. Usually I stay at the lot

way too late, then go to my parents’house and watch my mother fussover my nieces and nephews. Shegives me these ‘what the hell is yourproblem’ kind of looks all night.”

I couldn’t think of anything to saythat wasn’t too much along the linesof “Why don’t you have a girlfriend?”so I kept silent.

“Sooo,” Tom continued. “Youcame to my lot three times and nevergot a tree for yourself. Which lotstole your business away from me?”

“I have an artificial tree,” Ianswered automatically.

Leaning toward me and cuppinghis hand behind his ear, Tom asked,“I beg your pardon?”

I lifted my chin, looked him straightin the eye, and annunciated clearly,“I have an artificial tree.”

He put a hand over his heart andgaped at my admission, thendropped the act and laughed.“Seriously? Why?”

I smiled, thinking of my extra-sparkly tree. “Weren’t you telling mejust a few hours ago what happensto trees that don’t get bought? I havea vintage aluminum tree I got offeBay.”

The skin around his eyes crinkledas his smile widened and he tookanother look at my hot pink satin andvelvet outfit. “I guess I shouldn’t findthat surprising, but I hear you.Fortunately for me, most peopledon’t see it that way.”

“Well, when I have a bigger place,I’ll probably give in to the whole hugetree thing. I just love the way theysmell.” I took a deep breath, inhalingthe pine. “Mhmm. . .They sure arehard to resist. I’d put it in a foyer,decorate it with Victorian orna-

ments—” I broke off, blushing. Whyam I telling him all this?

“It sounds great.” He gave myhand a squeeze. I looked down insurprise. When had he taken myhand?

“We’re ready to put the angel ontop of the tree,” Dot announced.“Who’s tall enough?”

Leaning my head back to get abetter view of the tree—surely overten feet in its stand—I answered,“No one. Isn’t there a ladder?”

“I think our little angel should dothe honors,” Gwyneth said.

“Great idea, Gwyneth!” agreedDot, looking straight at me.

As understanding dawned, Ishrank back. “No, I didn’t do any-thing. I just had an idea. Tom. . .”

I turned to him for support, but hegave me a push forward, agreeing,“Tiara definitely should be the one toput the angel on the tree.”

I glared at him, but he smiled backat me, oblivious.

“I can’t possibly reach the top ofthe tree—”

“Sure you can.” All the Christmastree hefting Tom had done in thepast month had obviously paid off ashe effortlessly lifted me plenty highenough. Gwyneth—with amusementglinting in her rheumy eyes—handedme the vintage 1970s plastic angel.

Traitorous old witch, I thought, notreally meaning it of course.

Muffled cheers and claps—alongwith one catcall—followed my place-ment of the angel. Looking over myshoulder at the happy faces of theold people brought a lump to mythroat, but as Tom lowered me to thefloor, allowing my body to slidedown his firm torso, I felt a far differ-ent emotion.

My feet touching the floor now yetstill standing quite close to Tom, Itilted my head back. To my surprise,he was already looking at me. Oureyes caught and held. For amoment, I forgot I was in a room fullof my grandmother’s contempo-raries. As hokey as it sounds, I justgazed into his eyes and everythingelse slipped away. If anyone in theroom spoke, I couldn’t hear them. Itook the smallest step forward, butGwyneth’s raspy voice broke thespell.

“What we need is some mistle-toe.”

My face undoubtedly bright red, ITR34

backed away. The rest of theevening passed in a closer approxi-mation of what I’d expected:Christmas carols sung along to theradio (because there wasn’t actuallya piano in the community room) andsome homemade wine Nunziobrought from his room. The first sipmade me cough and nearly retch,but after that it was much smoother.I suspected if I drank enough, itmight actually start to taste good,but my liver may never recover. AfterGwyneth had a few glasses, she wasmaking googly eyes at Nunzio.

The party winding down, Tomfound his way to my side again.

“I think I need to put in an appear-ance at my parents’ house—”

“Oh, good Lord, look at the time,”I exclaimed after a glance at mywatch. “My mom’s going to be fran-tic. Thank you so much—”

“Listen, Tiara,” he interrupted,placing his hand on my arm. “Thetree really wouldn’t have fit on yourcar very well, but I had an ulteriormotive in coming here. I didn’t knowif I’d get the chance to see youagain, and I couldn’t bear thethought of waiting eleven and a halfmonths in the hopes that you mighttree-shop at my lot with all yourfriends.”

He stopped to take a breath, and Ismiled at him encouragingly.

“I’d really like to see you again, butthe next few days. . .” He shook hishead.

“I don’t have plans for NewYear’s,” I announced, then clappedmy hand over my mouth. Sheesh,don’t sound too eager, Teresa.

“Neither do I. Is it a date, then?”As I nodded, Gwyneth walked

tipsily over with a piece of greeneryin her hands. I suspected it was aclipping from one of the houseplantsthat rimmed the room, but she madea valiant effort with all of her four-foot-eleven frame to hold it aboveour heads, saying, “I finally foundsome mistletoe.”

Tom shrugged and leaned forwardto give me the briefest of kisses,pulling away to breathe against mylips, “Merry Christmas, Tiara.”

“Merry Christmas, Big Tom,” Iresponded, wrapping my armsaround his neck and deepening thekiss. I ignored the wolf whistle—which was so close to my ear that Iknew it had to be Gwyneth.♥

TR35

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TR36

ChristmasTiesChristmasTies

C hristmas shoppingshouldn’t be so difficult.

“Surely, I’ll find somethinghere,” I said over the phoneto my roommate, Toni. Ipushed a heavy glass dooropen. “My dad can be sohard to buy for. He haseverything.”

Once inside, I foundmyself in the menswearsection. I inhaled. Thesights and sounds of Christ-mas wafted over andthrough me. Everywhere Ilooked, perfect holiday dec-orations caught my eye.Packages were wrapped inmetallic colored paper andtied with red bows. Silverand bronze garland hadbeen looped in the escala-tor well. Matching wreathshung from the walls. Some-thing smelling like cinna-mon and sugar tickled mynose. The sound systemblasted carols, lifting meinto a happy mood.

Countdown time: fourweeks to complete shop-ping, wrap-a-thon, andbake fest. First on the agen-da: shopping.

Toni’s voice pulled me back to thepresent. “I always give my dad aChristmas tie. He gets a kick out ofwearing it Christmas day.”

I shifted the phone to my other earto study my to-buy-for list. “Oh, I can’tget my dad a tie. He has a bazillion.”My dad, a stockbroker, wore one towork every single day. He’d arrangedties by color on the top of his dresser.The light from the ceiling fixture hitthem just so, drawing the eye to oneand then another and then another.“He probably has three hundred. Apsychologist would label him anaddict. For his last birthday, my sister,my mother, and I had all given him thesame one. My dad laughed andlaughed. I guess we all have the sametaste when it comes to ties! So I wantto avoid toppling into the trap. Neveragain.”

“I like ties. Men look so sexy wear-ing them, especially with their shirtsleeves rolled up.”

“Same page here. I just want to findhim something different.”

However, as I passed display casesof vibrant ribbons of silk lying on glassshelves, my eye strayed. Ties wereseductively knotted around shirt col-lars, draped over mannequins,matched with silk pocket squares.

Shaking my head, for I did not wantto go there, the thought “not a tie, nota tie” passed through my mind. Untilthe neatly arranged rainbow rows ofdots, stripes, and solids beckoned mecloser. The dark side seduced andsomething mystical propelled me torove in that direction. I sighed like achocaholic plastered to a candy storewindow. “Maybe I’ll get one after all.Phone you later.”

Disconnecting my call, I trailed myfinger across a row, pausing at a paleyellow one—the color of early morningsunlight. Diagonal stripes of sky blueand white woven in the finest silk—absolute perfection. As I reached formy prize, another hand dove in andsnatched it up.

“Hey.” I jerked to my right and point-ed to the tie he held. “Excuse me.That’s mine.”

He shook his head no. “I saw itfirst.”

“No. I did. It’s for my father.”“Sorry. It’s mine.” His hand

smoothed over the tie he wore, identi-cal to the one in his hand.

How odd. I narrowed my brow.

“Why do you need two of the sametie?”

His glance dropped down to hiswhite shirt, then back to me. “I guess itdoes look funny. My dad liked mineand since he’s so hard to buy for—”

“You thought you’d surprise himwith one for Christmas.”

“Well, yeah.” His devilish smirkshowed off his straight white teeth.Spinning away, he said, “See ya.”

What a scumbag! He had myfather’s Christmas present. My handsfisted at my side as I watched himweave around tables, heading towardthe checkout counter. He robbed meand was not going to get away with it.Racing to catch up, I accidentallybumped into a customer and called a“sorry” over my shoulder as I spedpast. When reaching the villain’s side,I tapped his shoulder. “Wait a minute,buster. That tie is mine.”

His tight gaze swept over my face,which made me feel like a total idiot.

“You’ve got to be kidding. Thisone,” he waved it in my face, “ismine.”

All this ruckus for a tie? With a snort,I knocked his hand to one side. “Ifyou’ll recall, you rudely snatched itfrom under my nose.”

“Did not—”“Did too.”Nose to nose, we glared at each

other like two arched cats ready toscratch and claw. Our chests heaved.Our steely-eyed stares deeply pene-trated through each other to ourspines. Claws distended. Heat, notjust the kind from anger, but from thelightening-hot voltage powered byattraction also surged between us asour eyes met. Sizzles pricked my skin.The awareness baffled me, sendingmy hand to rub my temple.

On cue, a sales associate rushedover. “Excuse me.” His timely inter-ruption prompted us to simmer downand step back. “Can I help you?”

We pointed at each other and saidin unison, “That’s my tie.”

“I’m buying it,” I said in a firm tone.“I saw it first.”

“No, I am. I picked it up first.”“Whatever happened to ‘finders’

keepers’?” I asked sarcastically, firmlysetting a hand on my hip.

“Exactly.” His finger punctuated theair. “I found it. I keep it.”

“Technically,” the associatestepped between us, arms spread topush us combatants to our respective

corners, “the tie belongs to the storeuntil someone pays for it.” A broadsmile went over the clerk’s face as heturned to the thief. “Hi, Mr. Malbec.”

The uncouth boor returned thesmile, transforming him into some-thing more pleasant-looking, like asickeningly sweet teddy bear. “Jay!How are today’s sales?”

“Pretty good, considering the econ-omy. Suits are down.”

At that moment, I saw my case sinklike the Titanic.

“Suits are more expensive.” Mr. M.stroked his chin thoughtfully. “Butnext week they go on sale. Maybethat’ll help.”

“Should—”“Wait a minute.” I crossed my arms.

“You know the clerk?”“Sure he does. He owns this store,”

Jay said. “Don’t you recognize GrantMalbec?”

Now I did and inwardly groaned.The Grant Malbec, the guy our localnewspaper, the Mystic ForestExpress, referred to as the most eligi-ble bachelor in town.

Nary a week passed when his photodidn’t appear on the society pages.Arm candy, dressed in the latestdesigner outfits, always graced hisside. His short blond hair tousled justso. His eyes, the shadowy blue-graycolor of a summer storm, smolderedwith adventure—like the travel sectionpurported. Recently, his picturegraced the automotive page, his longframe easing into a new silver BMWconvertible.

Anybody. . .but Grant Malbec.Last Sunday, while perusing the

paper over breakfast tea and toast, I’dremarked to Toni, “You’d think he’sthe only attractive man living in MysticForest.” I tossed the Living section inher direction.

Laughing, she’d shoved on her ovalreading glasses and examined thearticle. “He’s pretty hunky.” Her danc-ing brown eyes peeked over the top ofthe page. “You know, if I didn’t knowany better, I’d think you have a crushon him.”

“What?” I’d catapulted upright soabruptly, the hot beverage spilled allover my lap. Racing to the kitchen fora dishtowel to clean the mess, I threwa “do not” look behind me.

“Do too!” she yelled. “If he askedyou out, you’d go.”

Towel in hand, I returned to the sofa.“Would not. I like real, honest-to-

TR38

goodness hardworking guys. I don’tdate playboys.”

“Why not?”“Remember, the scumbag my sister

divorced? The one who rushed her tothe altar? Then dumped her two yearslater when a bimbo caught his eye?Enough said.”

“You’re right. That one was a scum-bag. However, I still say you’d go outwith Grant Malbec.”

“Would not.”Well. . .maybe. Although I’d never

say it out loud. I mean, wouldn’t mostwomen go, at least once?

Now, the darling of Mystic Forest,the epitome of supermodel hand-someness, stood in front of me in hisdark gray suit—bringing out the samecolor in his eyes—bright whitestarched shirt, French cuffs fastenedwith silver “M” links, the already men-tioned tie, and perfectly shined blackoxfords.

I wanted to smack him.I also wanted to die. Did it have to

be him? I prayed silently. Please getme outta here ASAP.

“Look,” Jay’s voice sounded calm-ing. “There’s a way to help both ofyou. How about we transfer an identi-cal one from another store? Let mecheck online. . .” In two strides, he wasbehind the counter, his fingers skillful-ly playing over the computer keys.Instantly, brightness stole over hisface. “Here we go. I can have one inby Friday.”

“That’s great,” Grant Malbec said.“Send it and be sure to get Ms.—” Hesquinted. “What is your name?”

I glared at him. “Piper Lucida.”“Get Ms. Lucida’s address and

phone number, Jay. The minute the tiearrives, please let us know.”

“Sure, Mr. M.” After inputting mycell number, home number, andaddress, he rang up the sale andhanded the bagged package to itsnew owner.

“Thanks Jay,” Grant Malbec said.“Happy holidays, Piper.” As he walkedoff, I heard him singing “WhiteChristmas.”

Great, just great. I drilled a nastylook into his back—a look my mamawouldn’t be proud of. First, my tie hadbeen stolen. Now, my favoriteChristmas movie was tainted. Iwouldn’t be able to watch the film dur-ing bake fest without thinking of howhe’d done me wrong-wrong-wrong.

At that moment, a delicious, evil

notion sliced through my mind, send-ing a quirk to the corners of my mouth.I envisioned firing a paintball gun andsullying his pristine image with volleyupon volley of fluorescent yellow,pink, and green splotches.

That was mean and not somethingI’d ordinarily do, but I’d thought aboutit.

I turned back to Jay and found himeyeing me while pressing tissue paperflat on the counter. “It’ll be okay, Ms.Lucida. Your tie’ll be in on Friday. I’llcall.”

Staring at the mindless work, heshifted slightly. When his gazereturned to mine, he said, “I don’tknow if you’ve heard. . .Mr. M’s dadisn’t in good health. The family’s hav-ing an early Christmas, just in case. . .well, you know.”

I’d read an article in the paper aboutthe Malbec patriarch’s terminal can-cer. His dire situation was sad. “I dounderstand. Not a way to spend theholidays. Thanks for your help.” Then Ifound my way back to my car.

On Friday over lunchtime, just as Istuffed a chip in my mouth, my cellphone rang. Vigorously, I chewed andmunched into the phone, “Hell-wo.”

“Ms. Lucida? Jay speaking fromMalbec’s Department Store. I’m call-ing to let you know your tie arrived.”

It had? I’d begun to worry.Immediately, my heart sang. Drinkingfrom my bottle of water, I washed thefood down and drew exclamationpoints on a sticky note. “This is excel-lent news, Jay. Can I come by afterfive?”

“Sure. Malbec’s has extended holi-day hours. The store closes at ten.”

“See you then. And thank you.” Idisconnected the call, thinking “cool.”With my holiday shopping completed,all I had left was the wrap-a-thon andbake fest.

I couldn’t wait to get to the storeand pick up my package. Hitting theoffice door exactly at five, I rushed tomy car. At that point, Lady Luck aban-doned me. All the freakin’ traffic lightswere poorly timed. Waiting for anindeterminable amount of time at eachone made my insides edgy.

“Come on, come on.” I rolled my fin-gers fast and furiously on top of thesteering wheel. Parking wouldn’t beavailable in my preferred lot, andthere’d be wall-to-wall customerscrowding the store—shopping hell.

Finally, the mall came into sight and Iexhaled a bark of relief. Parking my carin the last spot, I sprinted to the storedodging potholes and puddles—which wasn’t easy to do in heels.

Again, I had to contain my impa-tience while Jay finished assisting acustomer. He’d seen me standing offto one side, shifting from one foot tothe other. He pointed his finger to theshopper and mouthed, “Five min-utes.” Understanding, I’d dipped myhead and wandered to the shirt dis-play.

After a few moments, I heard, “Ms.Lucida?”

I swiveled around. Jay, thank God.My hand flew to press my breastbone.“Hi. My package?”

He pointed to the counter. “If you’llfollow me. . .”

I followed him. But Jay didn’t put asmall, flat rectangular box in front ofme. Instead, he set a pretty gold onefestooned with a red satin bow and asprig of green holly. How did he knowGodiva chocolates were my favoriteindulgence?

Nudging the box in my direction, hesaid, “This is for you. And this.” He seta white envelope on top.

“Me?” My head went from side toside. “I didn’t order any chocolates. Iordered a tie.”

“Maybe the note will explain.”With one wary eye on Jay, I

removed the card. A picture of thestore decorated prettily with boughsof greenery, trimming, and lights hadbeen drawn on the front. At the bot-tom, in red script, was HappyHolidays! From Malbec’s DepartmentStore.

Uh oh. What does this mean? Mysixth sense went into overdrive. All Iwanted was my tie and to get on withmy life without any unexpected com-plications, like Grant Malbec.

The card read:Dear Piper,

Thanks for being a good sport theother day. I apologize for my bad man-ners and am hoping the chocolateswill sweeten the deal. Have dinner withme tonight?

Grant Malbec555-8882323

No way. An invitation from MysticForest’s most high-flying playboy? Aflush went from my freshly paintedtoenails to my highlighted locks. Mycheeks burned. Dinner with him? God, TR


I love the holiday season! Thetwelve days of Christmas, eight daysof Hanukkah, Christmas shopping,eggnog, pumpkin pie, spicy gingercookies and flavored lattes. Evenboundless lines at the mall, with theheat turned up to recreate a summerday in Vegas, and the same MariahCarey Christmas song playing on aloop, it’s still a jolly sensation!Watching your savings dwindledown to just enough for a rent/mort-gage payment has its own specialmagic—sacrificing your hard-earnedcash to make your loved ones smile.

But for the past several years, I’vebeen truly stumped over what kind ofChristmas tree to get. So enchantingis the fragrance of pine and sap,intensified by hot lights strewnacross the branches. I can’t help butfeel wasteful and anxious when it’stime to give such a happy exampleof nature’s beauty the heave-ho.

This guide will give you the pros andcons of each, ensuring that yourDecember holiday is nothing but joy-ous, from cut Christmas trees, to livepotted ones, to the artificial, you’llget the info you need to make yourchoice.

Cut TreesSurprisingly, these can be a veryeco-friendly choice. These days,most cut trees are harvested fromtree farms. At these farms, one tothree seedlings are planted for each

Christmas TreeShopping

gardening books at your local libraryor do an online search for quick tipson replanting the tree or maintainingit.

Artificial TreesReusable and cheap? Yes.Renewable materials? No. Madefrom the likes of vinyl, polyethylene,PVC, steel, and aluminum, your arti-ficial tree will spend hundreds ofyears in local landfills. It’s said thatartificial trees are typically only usedfor six to nine years anyway, so themoney saved is minimal. Especiallywhen you consider the toxins itexpels into the environment andyour body. Also, three out of fourartificial trees sold in the U.S. comeby way of China, and many containlead. Lead dust is so typical that thestate of California requires a warninglabel on all fake trees and wreaths. Ifyour situation requires an artificialtree, purchase a vintage aluminumtree off eBay or a thrift/consignmentstore so fewer trees will be taking upprecious space in a landfill. If and when you decide to get rid ofyour artificial tree, try listing it backon eBay or donating it to a localnursing home, church, or charity,since most recycling programswon’t accept them.

Christmastree.org has lots of greatinfo to help further guide you inyour decision. Whatever tree youchoose, may your days be filled withthe light and love of the holiday spir-it!

Health & Happiness

one that gets chopped down. Treefarms enrich the surrounding landfor miles around by absorbing car-bon monoxide and preserving acresof land. As long as a tree farm isoccupying that space, it can’t beturned into a strip mall or apartmentbuildings—it gets to stay wooded,saving land from over-industrializa-tion. After all, a single mature treecan absorb forty-eight pounds ofcarbon dioxide per year and releaseenough pure oxygen back into theatmosphere to support two humanbeings.However, many farms use pesti-cides. How harmful these chemicalsare to humans, wildlife, and ground-water is disputed. But the solution issimple—better to be safe than sorry.Look for organic trees.

Also know that holiday trees andwreaths can be recycled. Manycommunities have recycling pro-grams with designated curbsidepickup. Check with your area fordates or go to earth911.org for a list-ing of local programs. Since treesare 100% natural, composting ityourself is an option if you have thespace. Just don’t chop it up andburn it in your fireplace—you’ll gettar in your chimney, clogging it andpossibly becoming a fire hazard.

Potted TreesInstead of a cut tree, you can opt fora potted tree. Available in differentsizes, they’re sold at organic nurs-eries, tree farms, florist shops, andtraveling lots outside of grocerystores. However, keeping your pot-ted tree alive until the next holidayseason—not so easy. keep it in agarage or cold house during freezingcold weather. In a moderately coldclimate, put the tree outside and pilemulch or leaves around the pot forinsulation. If you live in a place thatis warm year-round, remember tofrequently water your tree. Consult

By Nicole Scarmeas

Christmas TreeShopping

TR40

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no.Jay lightly touched my shoulder.

“Are you okay, Ms. Lucida?”I shuddered and sensibility, the

kitchen kind I’d inherited from Mom,took over. “Fine. I’m fine.” I returnedthe note to the envelope. “Now, howabout my necktie?”

“Well. . .” He glanced away andcleared his throat. “I can’t give it toyou.”

I closed my eyes and prayed.Please, God, give me strength to getthrough this. I vow to never eat choco-late in bed again if your DivineIntervention will take me out of here.Please.

But upon opening them, I was still inthe store. Rats.

“Exactly,” I fastened Jay in my infa-mous squinting evil eye, “why can’tyou give me the tie? You said it hadcome in.”

“It’s here. You have to call this num-ber.” He tapped the envelope. “Youget it after.”

Jay put the chocolates in a Malbecshopping bag, and I snatched it fromhis hands, rage building. I didn’t needthe tie; however, I did need chocolate.There were plenty of ties in this greatbig wide world. I’d find one some-where else. The darn thing couldprobably be found online.

Turning, I knocked into someonestanding right behind me. They wereso close that the tip of my nose wasinches from the other person’s chin.Immediately, I slid a giant step to myleft to move out of the way. “Excuseme.”

The person mimicked my stride.I shifted to my right.The person followed.“Look—”“You didn’t call.”I recognized the voice and cringed.

So much for a fast getaway. Raisingmy gaze, I said to Grant Malbec,“What do you want?”

“You didn’t call about having dinnerwith me.”

Crap. Of course I didn’t phone himabout dinner. I didn’t date playboys.Period. End of story. Yet, this predica-ment read difficult, and I was stuck.Grabbing a girlfriend’s best excuse, Isaid, “My roommate and I have

plans.”He lifted a brow in that Jack Black

way, challenging me with an I don’tthink so expression. “You have noplans. I already checked with yourroommate.”

Why, what an arrogant, pompousjerk. “You. Did. What?”

He shrugged. “I called your homenumber and asked her to save thedate for me.”

Now I knew the whole truth. Tonihad asked me to have dinner with her,and since I had nothing else to do butassemble ingredients for bake fest, I’dagreed. The nerve of her to conspirewith this. . .this. . . creep. Oooh, ascream threatened to blow MountVesuvius-style. How could Toni dothis? She knew my feelings.Undoubtedly, she was laughing herfool head off.

Interestingly, an itsy bitsy part of medid want to go to dinner with him. Tosee what it would be like, sittingacross the table from him and havinghis undivided attention. But realitygrounded me. I couldn’t have dinnerwith Grant Malbec. Playboys were notmy type.

He waved a box wrapped with thesilver signature Malbec paper out ofmy reach. The red bow flapped in afluid wave. “Come to dinner with me,and you can have this.”

He was holding my tie hostage!What an egotistical, pretentious don-key’s behind. The audacity. I’d showhim. I had plenty of tricks up mysleeves. “You know, other stores carryneckties. I can buy one from them.”

“But it won’t be this one,” he sing-songed. “Come on. Let’s get to knoweach other. I promise not to bite—well,not tonight, anyway.”

Unexpectedly, his finger brushedthe length of one strand of my hairfrom temple to jaw. My insides meltedas quickly as double-trouble choco-late ice cream on a hot summer’s day.If one touch from him could affect methis way, what would all of him do? I’dprobably dissolve into a puddle likethe creepy guy at the end of theIndiana Jones movie.

He lifted my chin so I could look himsquarely in the eyes. Panicky sensa-tions overwhelmed my gut. Surely, hecould sense how hard my heartthumped?

Straightening my spine, I said, “I’mnot like the women from the paper, thefancy ones with designer dresses,

French manicures, dripping in jewels.I’m plain-Jane Piper.”

The glint in his eyes went serious.His hand dropped to his side. “There’snothing ‘plain’ about you, Piper. I seea beautiful and sassy woman, some-one I want a chance at getting to knowbetter.” He paused. “Those other girlsmean nothing to me. If I wanted tohave dinner with them, I would.”

My head went woozy with all theconfusion tornado-ing through it. Howunbelievable. Grant Malbec wanted tosocialize with me? I couldn’t think ofanything to say, except a thoughtful,“Oh.”

What the heck? I could do this. Hehadn’t made a lifetime commitment—just an opportunity to get to know me.After a beat, I asked, “Just dinner?”

“Just dinner. Name the place. I haveChamberlain’s in mind.”

How funny. “That’s my favoriterestaurant.”

“So your roommate said.”Secretly, the overwhelming compul-

sion to murder my roommate—slowly,very, very slowly—boiled and brewedlike witches’ stew. But I couldn’t.Wouldn’t. I’d go to the slammer, andshe’d still be laughing her silly headoff. Besides, blood makes me faint.

“You need to decide soon.” Histhumb gestured behind him. “You’reholding up the line.”

Peeking over his shoulder, I sawthree customers with sappy grinswatching us. Fantastic. Take photos,people. And to my horror, a womanheld up her camera phone andsnapped away, saying to her compan-ion, “That’s Grant Malbec and his newgirlfriend. I can’t wait to send thisphoto to the paper.”

“Okay.” I pitched my hands sky-wards. “Fine. Dinner. But no weirdstuff.”

“No weird stuff.” He pulled my handthrough to rest on the crook of hisarm. As we walked toward the parkinglot, he said, “I think this is the begin-ning of a beautiful friendship.”

Great. He had to quote Bogie.However, Grant Malbec and I seemedto have a lot in common—ties,movies, and chocolate.

What else could there be? At thatmoment, like-love squished into myheart. My insides sunk.

It couldn’t be, could it? With a tilt ofmy head, I looked at his gorgeous faceand smiled. Had I met my soul mateover a tie?♥

TR42

Christmas Ties(Continued from page 39)

first response to everythingwill be “what can go wrongwith this?”

Twelve years later, we arestill that drenched couple,laughing in the rain whilesearching for our cars—hug-ging and kissing once wefinally stumbled upon them.We still joke about the time Itold him I wanted a love let-ter. “I can’t write love let-ters,” he said. “I’m a scien-tist. I can only write scientif-ic reports.” But I’ve neverread a scientific report thatcontained these poeticwords: “A sunset is onlybeautiful if seen by two pairsof eyes.” My heart alwaysskips a beat when I remem-ber those words spoken tome one warm evening duringour engagement. It skips abeat at the thought of himcoming home. And he neverfails to thank me for agreeingto be his wife. We believe itis a privilege to be marriedto each other. Hand in glovedoesn’t even come close.

—Avril Field-Taylor

talked about getting marriedone day. I just wasn’t expect-ing that day to come sosoon. It was truly spectacu-lar. A round, ideal-cut emer-ald surrounded by dia-monds. Just when I think Icouldn’t be any moreshocked, he refused to godown on one knee; more-over, he didn’t even ask thequestion! “Here you go. Itshould fit. I must go to theloo,” he said, heading for theback of the restaurant. Had Ijust been proposed to?Standing there, staring at theway the brilliant green stonereflected light, I smiled, myheart telling my head thatyes, I had been.

We learned by experiencethat life’s intricate patternscaused fewer migraines if Iorganized everything. Paulwas somewhat involved. Hisrole consisted mostly ofwriting the checks that madethe smoothness and order ofhis life possible. It still worksthat way. To his credit, ittook him just one week toadjust to the invasion of hissolitary life by a high-mainte-nance woman and her dog.Though he claims that hehas never compromised onanything. He has coped withthe insanity I endured when Idecided to quit my job andgo back to school, as well asmy abiding love affair forexpensive pens and jewelry.I have coped with his viewthat life is black and white,and the knowledge that his

We did not meet until myearly forties. Working as aresearch librarian, I neverexpected to find true love ina hardcover book. He need-ed my help with a STN(Scientific and TechnicalInformation Network)search. It was a struggle andwe were getting nowhere. Hesat next to me in front of thecomputer, suggesting rele-vant search terms. I wouldtranslate them into thesearch language for thepharmaceutical databasesand assess the results.Normally, that would not beenough to spark a romance.But our first encounter feltlike our fiftieth. It felt like Ihad known him for years,not minutes.

My first date with Paul wasactually a dog walk. Hejoined my dog and I for alovely stroll through the for-est. It all sounds very roman-tic, but I have to comeclean—we got quite lost inthat forest, and to top it off,it was during a downpour.We may have been soaked tothe skin, but our mutualattraction was impervious torain.

Two months after our firstdate, we took his parents outfor lunch. I met Paul in thedoorway of the restaurant.“I’ve told them we’reengaged,” he said. My jawmust have hit the floor. Likeall new couples that arehopelessly in love and fasci-nated with each other, we

Happily Ever After

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Had the mysterious man with the strongchiseled face only glanced at me as ketchupdribbled from my curly-Q fry onto mysweater while I walked through the mall, Ithink I could have managed just blushingand then not have given any more thought tothe incident. My ending up with whatever Idrank or ate on my clothes was certainlynothing new for me. Ask my dry cleaner. Butthe infuriating dark-haired stranger drinkingcoffee near the mall’s fountain proceeded tostare at me and chuckle, making the embar-rassing scene indelibly etched in my memo-ry.

TR44

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Born and raised my twenty-eightyears in South Carolina, I was woman ofthe South and was taught to observeand practice strict Southern etiquette.As far as that etiquette was concerned,a man snickering at a lady was no gen-tleman, even if he was extremely hand-some. Evan Michaels, the currentobject of my very strong interest, cer-tainly wouldn’t have laughed at me. Hewas a true gentleman. It was little won-der so many women were vying for hisattention and were all mad as hornetsthat I’d already gone out with him twice.

Already feeling edgy over what mightend up being the most humiliatingevening of my life, I had half a mind to letmy Irish temper get the better of me andmarch over to ask Mr. Chuckles if theruination of my favorite sweater wasreally all that damned amusing. I was inno mood to be laughed at. But ratherthan give him the satisfaction, I turnedon my heel and walked away. I still hada dress, shoes, and a slew of otherthings to buy for the evening’s holidaybenefit ball, and time was quickly get-ting away from me. If I was going toentice Evan Michaels to be my NewYear’s Eve date, I had to look my besttonight. Then again, even thinking he’dbe interested in anyone but me wassilly. We were dating after all.

When I finally purchased the last itemneeded for the evening’s ordeal, mywatch showed it was already fouro’clock. Unfortunately, at this time in theafternoon the mall, all decked out in itsholiday splendor, was as crowded andcrazy as a picnic lunch being raided byswarming fire ants. Navigating throughthe crush of people was nearly impossi-ble, especially as my arms wereweighed down with at least a half-dozen colorful bags and a large dressbox. I was beginning to worry how Iwould open the mall’s exit doors when Inoticed the man who had laughed atme earlier was also leaving with pack-ages of his own.

I generally don’t turn tail and run fromany person, but without thinking, I madean immediate turn to my right and ransmack into a heavyset woman toting asoda and a barbeque sandwich. I fellbackwards onto the hard floor while mybags and boxes arced high in the airand barbeque sauce rain fell over everyinch of my body.

“Oh my!” the woman exclaimed. “Areyou all right, darlin’? That was sometumble you just took.”

I looked all the way down to my toes,noting the bright red blotches over myjeans and sweater, then raised mygaze. By some small miracle, thewoman I had run into remained stand-ing, her soda undisturbed in her hand.

“I think I’m all right,” I sputtered.Other than my sore bottom and a verybruised ego, I wasn’t hurt. “I’m so sorry.I should have been paying better atten-tion to where I was going.” I pulledmyself upright and was preparing tostand when a large hand extended frommy left.

“Allow me. I don’t want a pretty lasssuch as yourself to be trampled on bythis crazy crowd.”

I sat transfixed. The handsome yetirksome stranger with the dark hairclasped my hand and forearm andhauled me up as though I weighed nomore than a feather. His deep, lyricalScottish dialect, even thicker than mysouthern accent was sexier than any-thing I’d ever heard before. While I col-lected my wits, he gathered my bags.

“There now,” the stranger said as hesurveyed me. “Other than a few dropsof sauce on your face and clothes, youlook as right as rain.” He shifted theweight of my things in his arms and pro-duced a hankie, which he handed me.“I’ll just help you take these packages toyour car.”

I ran a finger down my cheek andcame in contact with something wet,cold, and sticky. Holding on to what lit-tle dignity I had left, I accepted his hand-kerchief and wiped my face. When I fin-ished, I held the hankie out for him totake and couldn’t help but notice itsonce white material was now complete-ly covered in red sauce.

He waved me off with a rakish grin.“You’re welcome to keep that, lass. Ihave plenty more.”

Evidently, the ketchup incident andmy literal run in with a barbeque sand-wich in front of this man wasn’t enoughto complete my humiliation. Oh good-ness no. My embarrassment had to betopped off by his refusal to retrieve hishandkerchief.

As though the last of my pride hadbeen plucked like a note from a violin, Ifelt the control over my emotions pre-pare to give way. I was either going tocry or come up fighting. Either way, Hellwould have to freeze over before Iallowed this stranger to follow me to mycar. I knew all too well the dangers ofmall parking lots and the chances of alone woman getting mugged or worse

while she tried getting into her vehicle.I was about to politely but firmly

thank him and decline his offer, when afamiliar voice piped up behind me.“Colin MacBride! You’re a brave man tobe out in a mall on the Saturday beforeChristmas.”

Pastor Truitt Sims, my minister and alife-long friend of my father’s, stoppednear the Scot and held out his hand.After much difficulty, the strangeradjusted the bags draped over his armsand accepted the preacher’s hand-shake. Then Pastor Sims noticed meand his eyes went as round as daisies.“What in Heaven’s name happened toyou, Jennifer? Are you hurt, child? Youlook like you had an argument with aketchup bottle and lost.”

My bottom lip trembled and myshoulders fell. I had accepted the factthat I was an ungraceful klutz manyyears ago, a definite drawback whenone was supposed to be a sophisticat-ed Southern lady, but why had myclumsiness reared its ugly head today infront of this stranger and now my minis-ter?

Pride, I told myself. With my certaintythat Evan Michaels would pick me forhis New Year’s Eve date during thisevening’s events, I had allowed mypride to get the better of me and now Iwas getting my just desserts. Karmawas surely a nasty little thing.

“I’m fine, thank you Reverend Sims.”I sighed and attempted a smile I didn’tfeel. “You know this man?” I noddedtoward the tall, dark-haired Scot hold-ing my bags and noticed for the firsttime his incredible golden brown eyes.Like sunshine sparkling off a glass offine Kentucky bourbon, his eyes twin-kled with a warmth that was far toointoxicating. A woman could get punch-drunk looking at his handsome face anddwelling in his gaze too long.

I blinked and mentally shook myhead. My fanciful, overly romantic brainwas plotting some kind of crazy loveconnection with this stranger withoutmy permission. Evan Michaels, Ireminded myself, was the man I want-ed. Evan was the closest I’d found to aperfect Southern gentleman, and if Ihad my way, he’d soon be all mine.

Pastor Sims’ face lit up and he pattedthe Scot on his broad back. “This is Mr.MacBride, the new owner of the bedand breakfast in town. I’m surprisedyour father didn’t mention anythingabout him. Your dad was the real estateagent responsible for selling the proper-

TR46


ty to Mr. MacBride.” My father hadn’t mentioned a word

about the Scot, but I was hardly sur-prised. When I visited my parents’house, we practiced two rules: nophones or texting while in each other’spresence, and no shop talk. “I supposehe may have,” I fibbed, “but he has somany clients, it’s hard keeping up withall of them.” My father could thank meor scold me later for exaggerating a tadbit about his business.

“So you’re Patrick Flann’s daughter.It’s a pleasure to meet you, lass. Yourda spoke quite often of you as hetoured me through the available proper-ties.”

MacBride put out his hand anddespite the fact I only wanted to beaway from the man with whom I hadmanaged to make a fool of myself allday long, I shook it. When our palmstouched, a tingle of electricity passedfrom him to me. Though I shake manyhands a day while playing out my roleas an attorney, I had never experiencedanything quite like the tiny current thathad just rushed from my palm all theway down to my stomach. Not even myfirst and subsequent kisses with EvanMichaels had resulted in such a strongreaction.

I glanced at the Scot’s face to see ifhe had felt the sensation too, but hishappy smile never altered. Apparentlymy overactive imagination was still hardat work.

“Ms. Flann’s father is a friend of mine,and you’d be hard pressed to find a bet-ter man. As a matter of fact, you may beseeing him again this evening at thebenefit gala. You do know about theevent, don’t you, MacBride?” Withoutwaiting for an answer, Pastor Simsglanced at his watch. Concern flashedacross his usually serene face. “If you’restill being auctioned off tonight,Jennifer, you may want to hurry. Theprogram starts at seven.”

One of MacBride’s eyebrows raisedhigh on his forehead. “You’re beingauctioned tonight at the gala tonightthen?”

Feeling more than just a little embar-rassed at having been talked into partic-ipating in this evening’s auction, I sup-pressed a groan despite the sinkingfeeling in my heart. But I needed tomake a good show of myself if for noother reason than to encourage peopleto attend the benefit ball, so I raised mychin and nodded. “Several single menand women are auctioning off a date to

the annual New Year’s Eve dinner anddance. It’s a part of our town’s holidaytradition. All the money from tonight’sgala and the auction goes towards buy-ing gifts for children whose familiescan’t afford them.”

“That’s verra interesting.” MacBridestared at me for a long moment. I’dswear I saw cogs and wheels turningbehind his golden eyes. “And all themoney goes to charity? Wee underpriv-ileged children?”

“Oh yes, every dime,” Pastor Simsanswered. “But if you plan to bid onsomeone like Ms. Flann here, be pre-pared to pay a pretty price. Accordingto my wife, our Ms. Flann here is quite acatch. I’ve been told several gentlemenhave already shown an interest in hav-ing Ms. Flann as their date to the NewYear’s Eve dance. She’s very particularand doesn’t date just anyone. But bewarned,” the elderly preacher winked atme, “God blessed her with red hair for areason.”

I couldn’t believe my ears. My ownminister was carrying on about me asthough I wasn’t even there. Heat radiat-ed throughout my body, making mysweater feel all together too warm andconstricting. I simply had to get outsideinto the fresh air. “I was fixin’ to leavewhen I fell. Mr. MacBride was kindenough to gather my things for me.” Iheld out my hands, willing the Scot tosimply give me my bags without furtherincident. Apparently MacBride wasbull-headed. He made no effort toreturn my things. Instead he flashed adazzling smile and hiked some of thebags further up his arm.

“Aye, that’s right,” the Scot agreed.“Now where’s that car of yours parked,lass?”

Before I could protest, Pastor Simschimed in. “I’m on my way to the park-ing lot, too. We’ll all go together. I wantto find out how you’re going to adver-tise for your bed and breakfast,MacBride. I’m not a professional adver-tiser, but I’ve got several ideas to passby you.”

My minister happily chatted the entireway to the car. Normally his lengthy dis-cussions wore on me after the first fif-teen minutes, but today I was all togeth-er relieved to have him accompany me.He might know and trust this new manin town, but I didn’t. Despite the Scot’sgood looks and dreamy accent, Iresolved myself to approach Mr.MacBride with extreme caution.Although he was kind enough to help

me get my things to my car, I had seenhis true colors earlier in the day, and Iwasn’t so easily deceived.

By the time I finished getting ready andarrived at the holiday ball, most atten-dees were already finding their seats forthe dinner. I searched for my parents’table and was utterly taken in with theopulent beauty of the room. Gaily deco-rated with Christmas trees, evergreenboughs, humongous ribbons andbows, and small twinkling white lights,the place had a warm glow that wouldsurely melt the heart of even the Grinch.Good thing, too. With the economy stillsuffering so badly, more families thanever needed a helping hand this holidayseason. The more money raised at thisevening’s party and auction, the better.

My father, both hands full with punchglasses, walked over to me and guidedme to our table. “We have the mostinteresting man seated with us tonight,”he mentioned as we meandered ourway through the sea of full tables andchairs. “He’s a new resident in town. Adelightful gentleman from the ScottishHighlands. Since he doesn’t knowmany people yet, I’ve invited him to eatwith us. I plan to make introductions forhim this evening.”

I cringed. “Colin MacBride?”“Why yes. Have you already met

him?” my father asked.I nodded, feeling my face flush at my

embarrassing run in with the barbequesandwich and the curly-Q fry incident,all of which the Scot had witnessed.“Pastor Sims introduced us this after-noon at the mall.”

“That’s fine then.” He nudged mearound two men standing in the aisle.“You can help me with his introduc-tions.”

I was about to tell my father that Iwould do no such thing when I sawColin MacBride standing near mymother. I stopped dead in my tracks.The Scot wore a formal kilt of darkgreen and blue topped off by a dashingblack tuxedo jacket, vest, white shirt,and black bow tie. A silver and blacksporran hung from his hips, and thickcream-colored socks reached hisknees. Festooned in his native garb,MacBride was truly breathtaking. Muchlike when he touched my hand earlier inthe day, a faint tingle radiated deepinside my stomach.

Before I could give the reaction muchthought, I noticed several other women TR


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TR48

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around the room admire the Scot. Likecarb craving dieters, they longinglyeyed his tall, muscular body and thescarce bit of naked leg peeking outbeneath his kilt. As I surveyed the roomto see just how many ladies werechecking out the new man in town, Ispied Evan Michaels standing at anoth-er table close to the auction stage. He,too, looked keenly handsome. His redand green holiday tie popped againsthis white shirt and dark suit. Everystrand of his blond wavy hair was per-fectly placed, framing his lovely face inthe nicest way.

I waited for the excitement of seeingmy current love interest to flutter aroundmy insides, but the feeling never came.Instead a little green bubble of jealousyfloated to my throat. Misty Carter, thelocal blonde vixen herself, clutchedEvan’s arm and looked up adoringly ashe spoke to her. She flashed her brilliantbeauty queen smile at him and battedher lashes. Evan responded by gentlytucking a strand of her golden hairbehind her ear. Within a matter of sec-onds, my little bubble of jealousy grewand grew until I couldn’t breathe.

“You’re as white as a sheet,Jennifer.” My mother put down theglass of punch my father had just givenher and stepped to my side. She placedher cool hand on my forehead. “Youdon’t have a fever, dear, but you feelclammy. Have you eaten anythingtoday?”

I could barely take my gaze off ofEvan and his carrying on with Misty. Myeyes had to be lying. He was interestedin me, not her.

“Jennifer,” my mother repeated. “Areyou listening? Have you eaten today?”

I reluctantly dragged my attentionfrom the terrible scene unfolding nearthe stage with Evan. “Yes, Ma’am.” Noway I was going to tell her I hadn’t eatena thing since last night. I just had to fitinto the perfect dress for tonight’s auc-tion to impress Evan. I glanced back atthe stage. Misty laced Evan’s fingerswith hers and she led him off to a dark-ened corner of the room. My visionmisted over. Obviously all my efforts toimpress Evan were a waste of time.

“I think I’m ready for a dram ofwhisky. Care to accompany me to thebar, Ms. Flann?” Colin offered me hiselbow.

Like a robot without feelings or con-scious thought, I took Colin’s arm andallowed him to escort me away, not car-ing where we went as long as I didn’thave to witness any more of Evan andMisty’s public display. When wereached the bar area, we stood in linebehind all the others who waited for adrink.

Colin patted the hand I used to holdhis arm. “I’m glad to see you wore greentonight. ‘Tis a bonny color on you, lass.”

Although I don’t consider myself avain person, the Scot’s flattery light-ened the terrible weight pressingagainst my heart. “That’s very kind ofyou,” I somehow choked out whilefocusing on the floor. I simply couldn’tmeet his gaze. My emotions were tootender and tears threatened to fall. Colinwitnessed me looking my worst thisafternoon and I wasn’t going to com-pound his already bad impression ofme by allowing him to see me at myemotional worst this evening.

The big Scot sighed. “Come withme.” He pulled us from the line and ledme across the room and through a setof French doors to the veranda.

The scene outside was Christmascard perfect. Small white lights twinkledin tall pine trees not far from the bal-cony, and the stars above shone brightagainst the night sky. The evening air,cold and crisp, made me shiver. My lit-tle green dress was definitely not appro-priate for outside attire on a Decembernight in the mountains of SouthCarolina. Before I could utter a word,Colin removed his tuxedo jacket anddraped it over my shoulders, which Igratefully accepted. “What are wedoing out here?” I asked, genuinelyconfused. “I thought you wanted adrink?”

“Aye, well, I figured we both neededa breath of air a wee bit more.”

After a few moments of quietbetween us, he gently tipped my chinup. I had no choice than to stare into hisdreamy golden brown eyes. My legsstarted to shake, but I wasn’t sure if mywobble was due to the cold or havinghim touch me.

Colin frowned. “I want you to knowyou can do a hell of a lot better than thatsod, Evan Michaels.”

Stunned by his unexpected, unkindremarks about Evan, I sucked in a lungfull of frigid air and felt my chest burnalong with my indignation. I wrenchedmy chin away from his hold. “Why, I’m

sure I have no idea what you’re speak-ing about, Mr. MacBride.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Ms. Flann. I sawwhen you noticed Michaels with thatblonde lassy just a few minutes ago.You looked as though someone hadripped a rug out from under you.” Hetook a step closer. “I had’na planned totell you, but you need to know. EvanMichaels has taken more than onewoman to my bed and breakfast since Iopened in November. The man’s awomanizer and a jerk.”

Evan had been sleeping with otherwomen while he dated me? My mindrefused to believe what Colin said,though why he’d make up such thingsdidn’t make sense. “That can’t be true.Evan Michaels has been dating me forthe last two weeks. He’s a gentlemanand wouldn’t dream of sleepingaround.”

“He checked in this morning with thewoman he’s with tonight. Her name isMisty Carter. I had a chance to talk withher while she waited for Michaels topark his car and get their things out. Shesaid she and Mr. Michaels might begetting engaged this weekend. Ithought that odd, seeing as EvanMichaels had come to the B & B withanother pretty lass just the weekendbefore.”

The bottom of my stomach dropped.I thought I might be sick. How could Ihave been such a fool? Little wonderEvan rarely answered my calls. He wastoo busy sowing his wild oats.

My hurt feelings were quicklyreplaced with anger. I wanted to marchright back into the party, pull Evan out-side, then slap his face so hard he’dhave to look for his teeth. But I was aSouthern lady raised with better stan-dards than he obviously had. That kindof behavior simply wouldn’t do.

Colin eyed me expectantly.Evidently, he didn’t know just how Iwould react to his startling, heart-break-ing news. Perhaps he thought I wouldfall apart or crumble. I, however, woulddo no such thing. Standing my ground,I crossed my arms and straightened myshoulders. “You have no business in myaffairs. I barely even know you.”

A broad grin spread across theScot’s face. “Aye, lass, you don’t knowme now,” he leaned so close I smelledhis musky cologne, “but you will.”

Despite Colin’s warm jacket, anotherwave of shivers rippled through me.What exactly did he mean by that?Befuddled by Evan’s terrible behavior

TR50

Holidays In Plaid(Continued from page 47)

and Colin MacBride’s advances, mymind raced. Suddenly the Scot felt tooclose, looked too handsome, andsmelled too darn good. I had no ideahow to react, especially as I had justcome to terms that Evan Michaels hadbeen two-timing me with a fleet ofwomen. “I think we’d better get back tothe party. Dinner is fixin’ to be servedsoon, and then I need to get on thestage for the auction,” I said a littlebreathlessly.

The handsome Scot laughed andstepped back. “Aye, Lass, you’re right.Would’na want you to miss your auc-tion.”

All too quickly the dinner was served,and when the plates were removed,Pastor Sims, the evening’s Master ofCeremonies, called me up to the stagewhere I took my place with the otheravailable singles being auctioned. Two-hundred dollars started the bid for eachperson, and most auctions closed atfive hundred. Misty Carter’s auctionwas another story. Several eager look-ing men crowded the stage when shestood ready for her auction. Bids wereshouted and countered for a good tenminutes before Evan Michael’s final bidof sixteen-hundred dollars wentunmatched. The attendees of the chari-ty banquet all stood and clapped atEvan’s generosity. His winning bidbroke the current auction record of fif-teen-hundred dollars. Everyonethought he was a magnanimous gentle-man. I knew better, and the knowledgeburned a scalding hole through myheart.

Let her have him, I thought miserablyas Misty trotted off to Evan and I mademy way up to center stage. From myketchup mishap all the way to tonight’scatastrophe, today obviously justwasn’t my day. But I was a Flann, andthe Flann family never backed downand never gave up, including and espe-cially me. Though Evan Michaels’ baddecision in choosing someone over memight be ripping my esteem to shreds, Iwas a true Southern lady. It would takemore than a rogue like Evan to keep medown. I stepped forward, straightenedmy back, and smiled like I was havingthe time of my life.

To my relief and chagrin, even moremen hovered around the stage thanwhen Misty was auctioned. Once againthe auction started at two-hundred dol-lars. After almost twelve minutes the bidwas up to a thousand dollars, but the

bids were coming in much slower. I wasmore than a little worried. The high bid-der was Todd Potts, a chubby baldingdentist I never considered dating.Though a nice man, Todd Potts wasn’texactly the kind of man womendreamed about.

Pastor Sims was just about to call theauction to a close, when ColinMacBride stepped through the crowd.Resplendent in his coat and kilt, theScot shouted, “I’ll wager five-thousanddollars for the privilege of escorting Ms.Flann to the New Year’s Eve dance.”

A sudden hush fell over the room.The many spectators watched in open-mouthed wonder. Pastor Sims, lookinga bit pink and overcome with shock,cleared his throat. “Did you say fiveTHOUSAND dollars, Mr. MacBride?”The poor old minister held the micro-phone so tightly the whites of his knuck-les could be seen even from where Istood.

“Och, aye.” Colin raised his gaze tomine. His amazing golden eyes glitteredwith some unknown merriment. “Noone else will do.”

The good minister pulled at hisbowtie and swallowed so hard hisAdam’s apple protruded from his longneck. “That’s five-thousand goingonce.” He nervously scanned the room.“Going twice. SOLD to Colin MacBridefor five-thousand dollars!”

Pandemonium broke out throughoutthe room. Several members of thegroup enthusiastically whooped, whileothers cheered and whistled. Thecrowd’s clapping grew even louder asColin walked up the short staircase tothe stage and then offered his arm tome.

Like Prince Charming claiming hisSnow White, Colin placed a chaste kisson my cheek after I took his elbow,making the spectators applaud evenlouder. My entire body sizzled with elec-trical current that started where his lipstouched my face, down through mychest and legs, and out through mytoes. Even on the best date I’d had withEvan, his kisses never affected me theway Colin’s small peck did. I could onlyimagine what a full-on kiss might do tome. As we walked off the stage andback to our tables, my feet nevertouched the ground. I floated on the airof excitement that was Colin MacBride.

Even now, after eight years of mar-riage, Colin still spins stories to theguests at our bed and breakfast aboutthe beautiful redhead who stole hisheart the first moment he laid eyes onher and the kings’ ransom he paid atChristmas to win a date with her.Though my handsome, dark-hairedScot may tease and laugh about theway we met, a true Southern lady likeme will never find a more perfect gentle-man than my man in plaid.♥

TR51

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I opened my eyes to apristine sweep of snowyslopes backed by thejagged peaks of theRocky Mountains. Tallevergreens stood alongthe ridge, casting bluishshadows on the snow.Framed by my uncur-tained bedroom win-dow, it was the perfectrectangle of winter land-scape, just like thecover of a Christmascard.

I groaned and rolledover. I’d loved the snowat first; it was one of thereasons I’d chosen Col-orado for my new home.But the snow had lostits charm weeks ago.Not to mention the cold!I hadn’t been reallywarm since September.

TR52

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Nellie, my calico cat, was asleepunder the covers with me. I got up,careful not to disturb her, andtucked her in snugly. One of usmight as well be comfortable.

Shivering in spite of my flannelpajamas and fuzzy socks, I pulledon my bathrobe and added somelogs to the coals in the wood-burn-ing stove. One thing I had learnedsince moving to Colorado was howto build and maintain a fire. Ihadn’t yet learned to drive sixtymiles an hour on icy roads thatoffered twenty feet of visibilitybetween curves, the way thenatives did. I wasn’t sure I wantedto learn that.

I flipped the switch on the cof-feepot, and it began to rumble anddrip. The tiny kitchen, like the restof the cabin, was as neat and wellappointed as a picture in a maga-zine. My previous house had beena montage of backpacks, school-books, sports gear, overalls, andwork boots. The cabin stayed tidyall the time. I cleaned up aftermyself, and no one else was thereto make a mess.

For weeks I’d looked forward tothe explosion of colorful chaosthat would liven up the place whenCarson and Cameron arrived forChristmas. This would have beenthe boys’ first visit to my newhome. I’d enjoyed making the loftcheerful and inviting with plaidcushions, rustic furnishings, andseveral of my handmade quilts andwall hangings. I’d even given a trialrun to the small upstairs stove. Butthe boys’ leave had been canceledat the last minute. I’d be spendingthe holiday alone.

I dressed near the stove, poureda cup of coffee, and sat down tothe queen-sized quilt in the bigframe. A few more lines of handquilting in the border, and I’d beready to start the binding. If I hus-tled, I might finish today.

I ran my hand over the richly col-ored patchwork. This was a non-commissioned quilt; I’d inventedthe modified nine-patch designand selected the fabrics myself.

It’s too special to sell. But I surecould use the money.

I slipped my thimble onto mymiddle finger and went to work.Soon the rhythm of the needlesoothed away the running budget

ledger in my mind.My quilting frame stood before

an east-facing window. When ashadow fell across my line ofstitches, I looked up and sawChristian, the Garners’ hired man,riding his horse along a fence,backlit by the morning sun, hishalf-breed coyote-dog trottingbehind. I often saw Christian at adistance, and the dog always gaveme the shivers. I was glad Nelliewas content to be a house cat.

It was a beautiful image—veryColorado. But the uneasy sensa-tion in the pit of my stomach toldme that this Rocky Mountainserenity was not for me. I shouldnever have come.

Just two years ago, I was a hap-pily married homemaker inNorthern Florida. I loved cookingand cleaning and making thingspretty, driving my twin boysaround, going to their games, andgenerally taking care of them andtheir father. Rob and I planned todo some traveling after the boysgraduated, but retirement was stillyears away. Rob was only forty-two, healthy and strong, and heliked his job as a welder at a smallfactory.

When he died in an industrialaccident in the spring of the boys’senior year, it was as if the roof fellin.

The first several months of wid-owhood were the hardest of mylife, but at least they had the sav-ing grace of necessary work. Therewas so much to do. Carson andCameron had to finish school. Ihad mountains of paperwork tosort through. As the school yeardrew to an end, the activity levelintensified. Then suddenly all thefinal exams, ceremonies, celebra-tions, packing, and travel arrange-ments were over. The boys left forthe Navy, and I was really alone.

The initial outpouring of sympa-thy and freezer casseroles waslong gone, and now I felt isolated.I’d never thought about the qualityof my friendships before; Rob andthe boys were enough for me.Suddenly I felt like a stranger in thecity where I’d lived all my adult life.

In the fall, I started substituteteaching. I couldn’t live off theprincipal of the life insurance

money, and with all the recent dis-mal stock market activity, Rob’sretirement account was worth afraction of what it had been only afew years ago. I had to earn some-thing.

The job choice wasn’t a goodone. I didn’t like the work; it mademe nervous. And moving aroundfrom school to school, I didn’thave a chance to get acquaintedanywhere. I’d never been quick tomake friends anyway; Rob was thegregarious one.

My sewing was a lifeline, givingorder and purpose to my eveningsand days off. I could get up in themiddle of a sleepless night andfind relief at my machine or myquilting frame. The work didn’tmake the hurt go away, but itsoothed me, quieted my mind for awhile. I felt less alone with my workthan I did with other people.

When Cameron and Carsoncame home that first Christmas,they were such hardened militarymen that I barely recognized them.The holiday was a difficult time,with all of us trying to pretendthings were the same and knowingthey never would be. I could tellthe boys were struggling too, andtrying to be strong for me. I thinkwe were all relieved when it wasover.

After suffering through theanniversary of Rob’s death, I madetwo decisions.

First, I’m not working for theschool district anymore. After thisschool year’s up, that’s it. I don’thave any romantic notions aboutshaping young minds. Mostteenagers frighten me, andyounger kids aren’t much better.Every time I spend a day in a class-room, I come home stressed andexhausted. I’ll find some other kindof work—something I enjoy.

Second, I’m not spending anoth-er Christmas in this house. It’s toomuch for me to keep up on myown, and too much to pay for. If Ican live someplace small and keepmy expenses low, maybe I canafford to be choosy about my job.

So what sort of work should Ilook for? What do I enjoy? Whatam I good at?

The answer was staring me inthe face: a stack of colorful quilts,neatly folded in a display cabinet.

TR54

I’d lost count of how many unusedquilts were in the house. I’d hadvague ideas about giving them tofuture grandkids, but at the rate Iwas going, the boys would have tostart young and be awfully prolificto keep up.

I have enough for a small shop.But I wouldn’t want to risk the cap-ital to open one. I wonder if I couldoperate an eBay store.

The wheels started to turn. Iwouldn’t have transportation orwardrobe expenses. Overheadwould be practically nothing. Icould stay home and do what Ilove.

I put a few small quilts on auc-tion, just to see what kind ofresponse I’d get. They all soldwithin a week. One buyer, afterreceiving her purchase in the mail,wrote to praise my work and askedif I would be interested in making aking-sized quilt on commission. Iestimated the hours of labor theproject would require, multipliedby how much I wanted to earn perhour, then added the cost of mate-rials. The total seemed high, but Icrossed my fingers and sent thewoman my price. She replied thesame day, asking when I couldstart.

I went to work on the quilt andcalled a realtor. At her suggestion,I spent a few thousand on somepaint and minor repairs. In May, afew days after I shipped the fin-ished quilt, I put the house on themarket. It sold in three weeks.

“I thought houses took monthsto sell!” I told my realtor. “I thoughtthe market was supposed to besluggish!”

She shrugged. “Most houses dostay on the market a long time. Thesellers start out asking too muchand eventually lower their price.Your house was priced to sell andready to move into.”

I needed a place to move, fast.Panic soon gave way to an adven-turous streak I’d almost forgotten Ihad. I could go anywhere. My eBaybusiness could be operated any-place within easy driving distanceof a UPS office. The boys were inthe military now; they’d be movingaround for years, and there was notelling where, or when, they’deventually settle. I suddenly foundmyself thinking about the Rocky

Mountains. It was one of theplaces Rob and I had talked aboutvisiting one day.

I studied a map of Colorado andtraced the contours of the Rockieswith my finger. Maybe a small townis what I need—a real community,where people know and care abouteach other.

After a few hours of Internetresearch, I found a classified ad foran eight-hundred-square-foot logcabin on a cattle ranch in a ruralcommunity. The ranchers, Russand Debbie Garner, had a websiteadvertising their grass-fed beef,free-range chickens and eggs, andorganic produce. I liked the tone ofthe website, and I thought I’d likethe Garners. And the amount theywere asking for rent was some-thing I could easily afford.

A few emails later, I’d arrangedto take the cabin.

The second week in July, I loadedup my station wagon and onesmall U-Haul trailer with what wasleft of my belongings and headedwest. I’d hired a professionalestate sale guy to dispose of mostof my worldly goods. I pared downruthlessly, keeping only what Icould drive away with. I wasn’tgoing to fool around with storagebuildings. I had the memories; Ididn’t need the stuff.

It was a good decision. The salebrought in a good chunk ofchange, even after the estate saleguy took his share, and I didn’thave to bother about the leftovers.Driving into the setting sun with mybare necessities, I felt like a pio-neer.

The boys were more or lesspleased about my move. Carsonwas a little guarded; he’s alwaysbeen the cautious one, and mayhave been secretly worried that Iwas having a midlife crisis.Cameron, however, is just asadventuresome as his father. Heloved the idea.

I took a stair-step route fromTallahassee, my old home, toGrand Junction, the last sizablecity before my final destination,stopping overnight in Mississippiand Kansas. West of Denver, theRockies came into view. Early thefourth morning, I drove the lastshort leg of the trip.

TR55

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I stopped at the Garners’ bigpost-and-beam house to pick upthe key and meet Russ andDebbie. They were in their thirties,cheerful and capable, with ahealthy, outdoorsy appearance.

“I hope you understand that thecabin’s going to need some seri-ous clean up,” Debbie said. “It’sstood vacant for eight years, andvarious varmints have camped init. We had our hired man replacethe broken windowpanes and fixthe gaps in the chinking, but therest will be up to you. I kept mean-ing to go out there and make astart, but I’ve been busy with thegarden. We have such a shortgrowing season here that we haveto make the most of it.”

I suppressed a smile. Womenare funny about houses. Just fivedays ago, I nearly fell off a laddertrying to clean the grease off theceiling vents in my old kitchen, sothe new owners wouldn’t think I’ma slob, and here Debbie’s worriedI’ll think less of her because ofsome raccoon droppings in a cabinthat’s been forsaken by humanoccupants for eight years. Andthat’s after she already warned metwice in her emails.

“My cleaning supplies were thelast things I packed in my U-Haul,”I said. “I’ll give the place a thor-ough scrubbing before I move any-thing in.”

Debbie was visibly relieved.“It’s a good thing you’re getting

an early start,” said Russ. “Whenyou’re finished cleaning, call meon my cell. Christian and I willcome over to carry in the heavystuff.”

I drove off, followed the narrowtrack around a stand of aspens,and saw my new home for the firsttime.

It stood at the foot of a greenslope, surrounded by a blaze ofwildflowers whose names I didn’tknow, underneath a sky like bluecrystal. It looked small and snugand self-contained, and so in har-mony with its surroundings that itmight have just grown there alongwith the native trees. I loved it.

The interior was as big a mess asDebbie had warned me about. Idug right in, sweeping, dusting,scrubbing, wiping, and disinfect-ing. I’d missed this kind of work, a

really big cleaning task with a dra-matic before-and-after scenario.By early afternoon, the little cabinwas shining clean and ready forfurniture.

Russ drove right over in answerto my call, bringing a tall, silentman he introduced as Christian. Inthe bed of the truck was a lean,shaggy, russet-colored dog, with aplumy tail, a luxuriant coat, and acompetent, intelligent face.

The dog looked eager to jumpout, but Christian told it to stay. Itlay down and rested its nose on itspaws, but its piercing amber eyesstayed watchful.

“Good-looking dog,” I said.“What breed is it?”

“Aussie-coy.”“Excuse me?”“Part Australian shepherd, part

coyote.”I darted a glance at Russ. Was

this guy putting me on?Russ nodded. “It happens, now

and again.”I suppressed a shiver. The ani-

mal wasn’t tied. I hoped it wouldstay in the bed of the truck.

Together, Russ and Christianmoved my bed, dresser, quiltingframe, sewing table, dining table,armchair, and trunk into the cabin.That was it for the big stuff. Afterthe guys left, I went on unpackingand arranging things until far intothe night. It was definitely an orga-nizational challenge. The sleepingarea had a partition that separatedit from the living area, but no door.The cast-iron bathtub stood in acorner of the sleeping area; I’dhave to get a screen to cover it.The kitchen was tiny, but adequatefor one person. My quilting frametook up most of the living area,leaving just enough space for asmall dining table on one side andan armchair on the other.

It’s perfect.That summer was the happiest

time I’d had since losing Rob.Everything was so new and freshto me—the cabin, the little town,my new neighbors, the beautifulweather. I took lots of long walksand fell in love with the land. TheGarners were fine people, and Ihad a feeling that Debbie and Icould become good friends.

But the summer was soon over,and after a beautiful but brief fall,

winter set in with a vengeance,along with some serious doubts.

For one thing, the homey, small-town social life I’d envisionedhadn’t quite panned out. Debbie’sresponsibilities on the ranch kepther too busy for socializing. I’d metsome nice people at church, butthey didn’t really draw me in, and Ididn’t know how to make headwayon my own. A morning at churchalways made me lonely for Rob.

Business was improving, but notas quickly as I’d like. My goal wasto make enough to live on withoutdipping into savings. So far I’dcome close but hadn’t quite madeit. It didn’t take me long to figureout that in the present economy,small projects like table runnersand baby quilts were the realbread-and-butter. Because theyrequired a few hours of work, Icould charge my preferred hourlyrate without sending the cus-tomers into sticker shock. Bigquilts got a lot of looks but few tak-ers, and I hadn’t had another com-mission.

My sense of adventure had van-ished along with the summer flow-ers. Now here I was, nearly twothousand miles from the place I’dcalled home for over forty years,cut off from all that was familiar. Ifelt lost and disoriented, as if I’dstumbled into somebody else’s lifeby mistake. Sometimes I woke upat night in a panic because I didn’trecognize my surroundings andcouldn’t for the life of me remem-ber where I was.

I finished the last of the hand quilt-ing, took the quilt out of its frame,and spread it over my bed. Straightrows of tiny stitches made puck-ered tracks through the colorfulpatchwork.

It really is beautiful. Maybe Ishould just keep it for myself.

I shook my head hard. I’m run-ning a business here! I can’t affordto keep the products for my ownenjoyment. I have a lot of capitaltied up in this quilt, and I could geta lot of money for it if the rightbuyer comes along.

I’d already prepared the French-fold binding. I machine-sewed it tothe front of the quilt, then sat downin my armchair with a fresh cup ofcoffee to do the hand sewing.

TR56


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It was cozy, sitting there with thecolorful new quilt on my lap. Nelliejumped up beside me and settledin for a nap.

I turned on my iHome and pickedup where I left off on my latestaudiobook from the library.Bindings go quickly. By lunchtime,I was halfway through.

I stuck my needle in my pincush-ion, took off my thimble, and did afew yoga poses to relax my backfrom all that hand sewing. I’dalways been careful to stay fit; Iknew I looked younger than forty-one.

It’s not fair. I’m too young to bethrough with romance. And Robwas too young to die. He took careof himself; he ate right and workedout. He should have lived a long,healthy life.

I ate lunch at my laptop andchecked my eBay store and myemail. I’d sold a table runner and amatching set of cloth napkins. Ipacked them and printed a mailinglabel so I could send the packagethe next time I went to town.

I had a few business emails andmessages from the boys. Cameronsent a funny video.

The last message was from thechurch.

I sighed. I’d gotten on the churchemail list back in June, rashly sign-ing up when I was new andthought these people would soonbe my friends. Now I wished Ihadn’t. It made me lonelier thanever to see friendly emailexchanges between people thatwere so close to each other andvirtual strangers to me.

For a moment I was tempted todelete the message without read-ing it and ask to be removed fromthe list.

But I didn’t. And when I read themessage, I forgot about my ownloneliness for a while.

It was a call for help for a familyin a nearby town whose house hadburned down. I’d never met thepeople or even heard of them, but Ifelt for them all the same. The par-ents and four children hadescaped with the clothes on theirbacks and the family dog. Thatwas it.

So they need everything, theemail said. Every kind of householdand hygiene item, cleaning sup-

plies, towels, bedding, clothing,dishes, furnishings, and general“stuff.” Bring your surplus to thechurch by three, and we’ll drive itover. There will be more opportuni-ties to help this family later, but wewant to get a big haul right now sothey can be somewhat settled intheir temporary home forChristmas.

I looked around at my tidy littlecabin. It was lonely sometimes, butit was warm and snug. I imaginedstanding outside in knee-deepsnow and watching it burn to theground. Two days beforeChristmas, too.

What do I have to offer them? Mybelongings are so streamlined thatI really don’t have any surplus.

Then my eyes fell on the beauti-ful, nearly finished queen-sizedquilt.

I recoiled from the thought. Ican’t give them that! It would belike throwing away a month’s worthof work. They might not even likequilts, or these colors. Anyway, agift like that would be too much. Itwould embarrass them.

I disconnected from the Internet,washed my lunch dishes, and tookup my thimble again. As I sewedinch after inch of the binding, Ikept thinking about the homelessfamily, and imagining what it wouldmean to me to receive such a quiltat such a time. I remembered thekindnesses shown to me by friendsand family after Rob’s death, andhow precious they all were to me. Iwasn’t embarrassed by anyone’sgenerosity; I was thankful for all ofit.

At two-thirty, I folded the quilt,right side in, and stuffed it into anoversized plastic grocery bag. Idrove to the post office, mailed thetable runner and napkins to mycustomer, then continued to thechurch.

Half a dozen women were there,packing stuff into boxes, but I wasable to slip in, leave my bundle,and slip out again without attract-ing any attention.

I smiled on the drive home. I wasright. The quilt was too special tosell.

When I reached home, the firstthing I did was start reproducingthat quilt. I bought fabrics by the

bolt now, and I still had plenty ofyardage left of all the fabrics I’dused in the original. I pulled out myrotary cutter and got busy. Iworked quickly, and before fiveo’clock I had all the cutting done.

I’d just taken the first two piles tothe machine when I heard a knockat my door.

I was surprised, and Nellie wasso spooked she ran under the bed.Come to think of it, nobody butDebbie Garner had ever knockedon the door—and this was definite-ly not Debbie’s knock.

The man on the doorstep wastall, lean, brown, and vaguelyfamiliar. He was dressed like arancher and had a rancher’s air ofcompetent toughness.

Then I saw the dog, the half-coy-ote, sitting quiet and docile at hisfeet. It was Christian, the Garners’hired man. I hadn’t seen him upclose since July.

I invited him inside. I just hadtime to hope he didn’t think Imeant the dog, too, before helooked the animal in the eye andsaid, “Stay.” From the adoring lookit gave him, I’d guess it was pre-pared to wait on the porch all nightfor him.

He shook the snow from hisboots and then walked in slowly,taking an appraising look at thecabin. “I’ve always thought thiscabin had a lot of potential. Ienjoyed doing the work to get itready to move into. You’ve got theplace looking real nice.”

“Thank you,” I said. “Please,have a seat.”

I offered him the armchair, and Itook the straight-backed chairfrom the quilt frame.

He sat down and looked at me.His eyes were a clear blue, veryunexpected in his dark face.

“Did you give away a big brand-new handmade quilt to a familywhose house burned down?”

I don’t know what I’d expectedhim to say, but it certainly wasn’tthat. My cheeks grew warm. Therewasn’t any sense in denying it.“Yes,” I said.

“I thought so. I’ve seen yourwork before, through the window. Ithought the colors and pattern andall looked awfully familiar. It’s thesame one you’ve had in that con-traption all these months, isn’t it?”

TR58

He pointed to the big frame, nowempty.

I nodded. I felt embarrassed,caught making such an extrava-gant gesture to a family I didn’tknow. I hoped he didn’t think I’ddone it to draw attention to myself.In fact, I’d done all I could to avoidattention. It was funny that the oneperson in town who could positive-ly identify my work had somehowended up on the distribution com-mittee.

Christian continued. “The manwhose house burned down is mybrother.”

I looked at him, surprised. Hesmiled a wonderful smile thatopened up his face, and then wenton, “Now, I’m no expert on tex-tiles, but I know quality when I seeit, and I could tell by looking thatthis was a valuable piece thatwould probably fetch a handsomeprice. But you gave it away. And Ijust wondered what sort of womandoes a thing like that, and why.”

I thought carefully before Ireplied. “I really don’t know theanswer to that. Maybe it’s becauseI know what it’s like to be hurt andbewildered at Christmastime. I’venever lost the roof over my head,but I’ve lost a husband.”

Christian was looking at me witha clear, open gaze, and suddenlyhis eyes went red around the rims.It made the irises look bluer thanever.

“Well, it meant a lot to them. Itreally did. It made my sister-in-lawtear up, to think somebody shedidn’t even know would give hersomething so beautiful.”

My throat tightened, but I man-aged to say, “Thank you for tellingme that.”

We chatted a little longer, and Ifound out that Christian and Iattended the same church. I’dnever seen him on Sunday morn-ings because he always did thefeeding for Russ, so he and Debbiecould attend morning servicetogether. Christian attended theevening service.

The wind picked up, and Nelliecame out from under the bed towarm herself at the stove. Ithought about the shaggy dog—the quiet patience that shone in itsamber eyes. The sweet thing wait-

ing outside obediently, eventhough it was freezing.

Tentatively I said, “Your dogmust be cold on the porch. If we lethim inside, will he bother my cat?”

Christian’s eyes widened. “Who,Marvel? He’s the best dog you’veever seen. I’ve got two kittens atmy place, and he lets them snug-gle up to him.”

We let him in. Nellie bristled upat the sight of him, but he wiselyignored her and flopped down witha thankful sigh near the stove.

Rubbing Marvel behind the ears,Christian told me about the historyof the town and his own historywith it. He’d lived here all his lifeand obviously loved the area; heand his brother knew every rockand ravine in the county. Thoughhe didn’t brag, I could readbetween the lines and see thathe’d lived a life of courage, adven-ture, and self-discipline.

“I was just twenty-two when mywife died. I never married again.I’ve never had my own place,though I’ve thought about it nowand again. Sometimes I take a lookat a likely property or two, but Inever have felt right about it. I’mreally pretty torn. I’m getting a littleold to be a hired man, but Russtreats me right, and I like workingfor him. And there’s really toomuch work for him and Debbie todo all on their own.”

We’d gone through two morestovefuls of wood when I heardmyself asking Christian point-blank, “Would you like to haveChristmas Eve dinner with me?”

A smile of surprise and pleasurespread across his face. “I’d behappy to. Thank you.”

Suddenly Marvel sat up andpricked his ears, and a momentlater, there was a knock at thedoor. It was Debbie’s knock this time.

“Hello!” she said when I openedthe door. “I’m sorry to come by solate. I won’t step inside. I justwanted to bring you this.”

She handed me a basket full ofhomemade canned goods in rib-bon-tied jars. “There’s pumpkinpuree in there and apple pie filling.I hope your boys like pie. You besure and bring them by to sayhello, okay? I’m eager to meetthem.”

“Actually, they aren’t coming.Their leave was canceled.”

“Oh, Alana, I’m so sorry! Well, inthat case, you just come on overtomorrow and spend ChristmasEve with us.”

“Thanks, Debbie. That’s sweet.But. . .well. . .we just made plansfor Christmas Eve.”

I stepped back from the doorand gestured inside. Debbie fol-lowed my gaze and saw Christiansitting in my armchair.

“Oh. Oh, I see! Well, that’s fine!”She looked as pleased as if

she’d thought of it herself.“Come on in, Debbie. I have

something for you, too.”I gave her a quilted table runner

with a snowflake and pine treedesign. She exclaimed over thecolors and the tiny stitches. Thenshe said, “Once the holidays areover, Alana, I want to get properlyacquainted with you. There’s notime for visiting in the fall, but oncethe cattle go to market and the hol-idays are past, things slow down alot around here. I’ve been wantingto get to know you ever since yourfirst email. You always seemed likesuch an interesting person.”

Debbie left, and Christian didtoo. Before he walked off, he tooka last look at the cabin and said,“I’ve always liked this place. I’mglad someone’s living in it at last.”

One year later, Christian and Icelebrated our first Christmastogether in that very cabin. Ourengagement lasted less than amonth; we figured we were oldenough to know our own minds.Carson and Cameron came to thewedding, along with Christian’sbrother and his family. We held theceremony on Russ and Debbie’shuge front porch.

For a wedding present, Russmade Christian a partner in theranch. They understand each othervery well and have the same visionfor the place.

I’m still quilting, and still sellingfrom my eBay store. A week beforeChristmas, I finished the quilt I’dstarted the year before, the dupli-cate of the one I’d givenChristian’s brother’s family. Now itcovers the four-poster bed thatwas Christian’s Christmas presentto me.♥

TR59

His brown eyes held mine for amoment, making my insides sizzle. “Iwould never do that.” He glancedaway, his gaze staying off, as heseemed to consider something. “It’sall about how you look at things,” hesaid.

“Excuse me?”“Take, for example, the snow that

comes along with winter.”“Another reason to hate the cold,”

I replied. “You have to get up earlyand shovel the driveway just to getyour car out of the garage. And thenyou have to pray you don’t have anaccident on the way to work.”

“True,” he agreed, with a mysteri-ous twinkle in his eyes. “But if youturn that scenario around and look atit from another angle, it just mightmean something totally different.”

“Such as?”“Let’s say that instead of getting

up early in order to do somethingtotally boring, such as shoveling yourdriveway just so you can get your carout and go to work, you turn thetedious chore into something fun andexciting.”

“Fun and exciting.” For a second Itruly thought the man had gone total-ly mad.

But Doug refused to be put off bymy obvious lack of enthusiasm.“That’s right. Fun and exciting,” hereiterated. “The first time we have areally measurable snowfall, we’ll getup early and put on some old, warmclothes, along with a pot of hotchocolate. But,” he added, holdingup a finger. “Instead of simply shov-eling our driveways, we’ll make hugesnowmen for the whole neighbor-hood to see when they finally crawlout of bed and look outside.”

I seriously thought he was kiddinguntil I looked into his eyes. That’swhen I saw the kid that still resided ina man’s body.

“You’re serious!”His eyes widened. “I certainly am,”

he stated firmly. “Like I said, it’s allabout how you look at it.”

His enthusiasm was contagious. Ihad never looked at life the way hewas forcing me to, and I had toadmit, the thought of seeing some-thing positive in something so drearydid have a certain appeal. “Maybe I’ll

try that during our first snowstormthis year,” I said with a laugh.

“Maybe I’ll help you,” he added,clinking his cup next to mine.

Doug and I saw a lot of each otherafter that first meeting. I invited himto the neighborhood barbecue at thecommunity center that very sameday. We walked there together,pulling along a wagon filled withfood, not really caring that severalteenagers would pass us and toss uslooks indicating their doubts of oursanity.

We didn’t care. Even more shock-ing was that I didn’t care.

People got used to seeing the twoof us together after that. Wheneversomeone extended an invitation to aneighborhood event, it was always toDoug and Claire.

Oh yeah. It snowed for the firsttime in December. The two hugesnowmen in our yards were the talkof the neighborhood. I don’t knowwhen I’ve had so much winter fun.Another storm is predicted for theweekend. Doug and I are consideringbuilding a whole neighborhood ofsnowmen.♥

TR61

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Beating The Winter Blues(Continued from page 11)

Izzy rang my phone a handful ofThursdays ago. Izzy (Isadora) is myyounger sister. She too lives here inthe city of brotherly love. Her nor-mally monotone voice was chirpingwith news. “Free hair!” She nearlyscreamed into the handset.

“Free hair? What do you mean?” Iasked, puzzled by her exclamation.

Izzy went on to describe some-thing that I had pondered in passing,and in private, on a number of occa-sions. She said that she had signedup and that she wanted me to bepart of it. Her tone was jubilant. Shethought that this may be somethingthat would slay that beast that lurksbeneath her clothing. . .beneath allof our clothing.

After clicking off with Izzy I contin-ued on with my day. I tried my bestto concentrate on the stack of newmail and invoices but I could nothelp but wonder What if? I lookedback at my relationship with thetopic. How it always seemed to be anuisance, something to be ashamedof, even though we Latinas all seemto be “blessed” with plenty of it.

Body hair—have you ever beengetting ready for a date and shavedyour legs because you knew that theman might be rubbing up againstthem? Or have you worn sleevesinstead of spaghetti straps becauseyou didn’t have time to wax yourpits? I know I have. I have what Iwould consider an average amountof body hair. I’ve got two sisters andI know that they both have way morebody hair than I do. We used to callIsadora “the tarantula” when we

mouth; however, I have come tolearn that nothing is for free in thisworld, no less are there people liningup to pay me money so they cangive me free things that I really want.And seeing how being as hair-freeas a dolphin is something that is upthere on my list of things I covet, Ididn’t want to blow it and miss outon free hair (removal laser treat-ments), but I didn’t want to wind upwith some unknown type of sarcomagrowing where my pubic hair oncewas either. So, when the polite voiceon the other end of the phone toldme that she simply needed to askme a few quick questions before shescheduled me, I cut her off and toldher that she would be required toanswer a few of my questions beforeI would answer any of hers.

The polite voice disappeared anda curt one answered. “Do you wantto be a part of this trial or not,ma’am?”

Oh no she didn’t! I know she didn’tjust call me ma’am! I thought tomyself. I was trying to count to ten,to calm myself down. I did andanswered softly, “I may [want to be apart of the trial]. First, let’s see whatyou guys are going to be doing.”

I asked to speak to the doctor thatwas going to be performing the pro-cedure. The curt voice grew a bitmore impatient and told me that shehad all of the information I needed. Iquickly fired back, letting her knowthat I am an acclaimed columnistwith a prominent national magazinewho has readers all over God’sgreen earth. And, I would really likethe doctor to call me to let me knowwhat the trial was about. The impa-tient voice was swiftly replaced bythe polite one and my name andnumber were copied as I dictatedthem.

The doctor who called—andasked to remain anonymous)—sounded very congenial. He saidthat he heard I wanted to write aboutthe trial. I informed him that he wasmisinformed. I was interested inbeing part of the trial, as was my sis-ter and six of my close friends. Ineeded to know what the trial wasabout and what type of lasers we

were teenagers. (Use your imagina-tion.)

Izzy had learned that a medicaltrial for a new type of laser hairremoval was being conducted in andaround Philly. Like I said, she signedup for it and called me to do thesame. I, in turn, called some my girl-friends and asked them what theythought. Nikki, Lauren, Bea, Yoko,Lisa, and Angelica all told me to signthem up too.

Some other friends I called werealready lasered years ago, where Iwas warned that the treatment mightleave me wishing I hadn’t wasted mytime or money. I did some researchand discovered that for years therehave been two common types oflaser treatment for unwanted hair,Alexandrite and Nd:YAG lasers.

Some people react better to onetype of treatment than the other, anda person has to repeat treatments toone body part numerous times. So,these people, the ones that were nothappy about their results, couldhave undergone the wrong type oflaser treatment, or may not havegone for enough treatments to reachthe desired hairless result, or a com-bination.

I wound up being the point-personfor my group of friends and made thecall to the doctor’s office that washosting the free trial. Yes, FREE trial.(As my sister had mentioned—Freehair! These were free treatments.) Infact, as the polite voice on the otherend of the phone informed me, Iwould receive fifty dollars when Icompleted the trial.

This made a red flag go up for me.I don’t like to look a gift horse in the

TR62

The D Files

Free Hair!

By Letty Livingston

TR63

would be subjected to. (I hadn’tknown I was going to write about thetrial at the time.)

Dr. Congenial told me that the trialwas for a new type of laser treat-ment. The instrument is called theApogee Elite MPX and it uses twodifferent types of laser wavelengths.This enables the treatment to bemore effective on more types ofpeople. He went on to tell me thatcertain skin types and hair typesrespond better to specific wave-lengths of laser.

For this trial, he was looking fortwenty women who were betweenthe ages of eighteen and fifty whohad black or brown hair. He said thatwe’d be receiving a total of fourtreatments and that the side effects,if any, were minimal irritation, possi-ble slight skin discoloration, and achance of some short-term inflam-mation where the laser makes con-tact with the skin.

We the trial subjects had to agreeto let them shoot pictures of the trialsite and to document the process.We had to agree to take notes onany side effects we may have andthat we were agreeing to fulfill theentire trial, all four laser treatments.He asked me to let him know if anyof my friends were flaky, so he couldsteer them away from the applica-tion process. I told him that we wereall steadfast and true. He confidedthat he wished he could say thesame of his first wife. We bothlaughed.

The next time I heard Dr. Conge-nial’s voice was two weeks later; Iwas wearing a pink patient’s gownand I was sitting in chair that remind-ed me of the one my dentist had. Ihad already read and reread thepaperwork and signed it. I hadremoved my blouse and bra and hadthe hair under my arms, the hair Ihad grown for two weeks—yes, theytold me not to shave or wax myarmpits for fourteen days!—removed via some type of simplerazor. I was brought by the womanwho owned the polite phone voiceinto the procedure room and sat inthe dentist-ish chair.

There was a team of two peoplefrom the company who built theApogee. They were there to docu-ment the event. Also there were twonurses and Dr. Congenial. All ofthem had on large amber coloredglasses to block out the blinding

light given off by the laser. Theywore paper masks over their facesand garments one might imaginedoctors only wore in operatingrooms. The idea that my organs maybe harvested at any moment flashedthrough my head. It passed just assuddenly as it appeared; I remem-bered I was not in South Americaany longer.

I was told to relax, that nothingwas going to hurt, and that I was ingood hands. I voiced my concernabout my face not being pho-tographed and the team from thelaser company assured me that Iwouldn’t have to worry. Then a smallpair of metal goggles, like the kindpeople wear in a tanning bed, exceptthese were titanium or somethinglike it, were slipped atop my eyelids.

The room was cool and quiet. Thenurses took me by my arms and lift-ed them over my head. The chairmade a whirring sound and titledback until my arms were comfort-ably settled, and then Dr. Congenialsaid that they’d be starting.

I heard a slight hum and felt a lightbreeze on my left armpit. The air hit-ting my skin was fresh, but the odoremanating was anything but. Thesmell of burnt hair wafted passed mynostrils and it nearly gagged me.

“Really Doc?” I asked, trying toavoid the virtually noxious olfactoryoffense. He said that was the onlydownside to the treatment and thatwhen he works on other body parts,ones that are not as close to thepatient’s nose, it isn’t so bad. I pic-tured his nose always being close toany body part he treats and thatnearly gagged me, too.

It took about seven minutes forboth of my armpits to be laser treat-ed. I was dressed and in my car nomore than twenty-five minutes afterthe first whiff of my singed hair folli-cles. No pain, no marks, and no hair.Pretty amazing!

As I had mentioned earlier, I hadentertained the idea of having laserhair removal before. Money wasn’tthe reason for my foregoing it. I justdidn’t know if it was that big of adeal. Well, now eight of us havebeen through two of the four treat-ments for this trial, and all of usseem really satisfied with the results.(All except for one of us, who hap-pens to have an awful lot of whitehair under her arms and the laser isnot killing those follicles. She made

Come back next month formore of The D Files.

Read more of my work at:

http://letlettyhelp.blogspot.com/

©2009 Letty Livingston ~ The DFiles are intended as inspiring and

engaging sources for advice and notalternatives for therapeutic

intervention, should it be needed.All names have been changed toprotect the identity of the people

mentioned herein.

me promise to not tell who she is.)I’m considering having other areasof my body done.

Dr. Congenial says that this typeof laser will be on the market soonand that there are others like it thatpeople can already buy for homeuse, like the Tria home laser treat-ment system.

I don’t think I’d go as far as buyinga home laser hair removal system.But then again, I never thought that Iwould have satellite radio, a forty-inch flat panel television, or BlueTooth Sync in my car. So, I may windup never, ever, having to shave mylegs or go for a bikini wax again,which’ll be great. Would I get everysingle hair taken off my body? I don’tthink so. Sometimes I like to have alittle bit of grass in my infield, if youknow what I mean.♥

—LL

I will still be answering my readers’dating and relationship questions,so send them, along with your com-ments (and if you would like toreceive my seasonal newsletter thatis chock full of dating news, adviceand links to wonderful resources)email me at [email protected] submitted material is consideredfor publication and all names arekept in the strictest of confidence.

Join The Nature Conservancy to plant a billion trees, one tree at a time, in the fight to end climate change at plantabillion.org

DIVORCED, DESPERATE AND

DECEIVEDAn undercover DEA agentand a feisty divorcee fight

their impossible attrac-tion—and to stay alive asthey’re chased by a druglord intent on keeping hiscase from coming to trial.

CHILLAlaskan bush pilot

Luke Webber finds ableeding woman on hisdoorstep and realizes

the past he tried toleave behind eight

years ago is about tocatch up with him—in

a very deadly way.

LULLABY FOR THE NAMELESS

Missing girls are turning up murdered,in ways that eerily resemble the MO ofthe killer from the first case that Hart,Nolan and Tain worked on together.Did they get the wrong man the firsttime? Will they be able to stop thiskiller before tensions drive the team

apart—or get one of them killed?

FALLEN ROGUEAn Olympic swimmer finds

herself drowning in conspira-cy when accidentally injected

with a super secret serumthat gives her mysterious psi

powers. Suddenly she’s on therun for her life, and the onlyman who can help her is the

assassin hired to kill her.

GET YOUR HOLIDAYTHRILLS!


2FREEBOOKS!



GET YOUR HOLIDAYTHRILLS!


2FREEBOOKS!



romance 2009-12

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