Before Elliot could climb from the bed, Lizzie was headed out the door. He jumped up and hauled on his trousers, zipping as he ran, not bothering with the button, and pounded down the steps behind her.
She paused at the back door long enough to step into boots, but Elliot knew he didn’t have time to mess with his shoes if he were to keep up. Frantic, he grabbed a cast-iron frying pan from the hook by the fireplace and ran out the back door barefoot.
His long stride allowed him to catch up to Lizzie at the barn door, where they both jerked to a halt, panting and in shock.
Beatrice stood in Ingrid’s stall, the pitchfork in her hand, with the alpaca on one side and Lucky on the other. All three looked up at the couple in surprise.
“Well, well, well.” Beatrice grinned, poking the pitchfork into the ground next to her and leaning against it. “Look at you two. I assume you’ve straightened things out?”
Lizzie gaped up at Elliot, her mouth hanging open.
He stood naked to the waist with the frying pan raised like a weapon. Slowly, he lowered his hand and rubbed the other palm across the back of his neck.
Lizzie’s head swiveled back to her mother, her eyes wide.
With a chuckle, Beatrice took up the pitchfork and buried it in the open hay bale at her feet. “These are some weird sheep, Elizabeth,” she huffed as she tossed the hay into the stall. “You’re obviously going to need some help with this place…”
Christmas in Smithville
Copyright © 2019 by Stephen Fullmer
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Created with Vellum
To my son Ty, for adding oodles of inspiration to this story
Chapter One
Deck the Halls rang from the speakers of the patrol car as Ned pulled up to the Serendipity Bed and Breakfast Inn. Vehicles of all sizes and shapes crowded the gravel drive, a sure sign that half the town was in attendance. He shut off the ignition, and the radio fell silent. Propping his wrists on the steering wheel, he stared out the windshield, battling exhaustion. His shift started at six a.m., so he’d been on duty for, he glanced at his watch, thirteen hours. No wonder he was tired and grumpy.
If the gates on the highway train crossing hadn’t been stuck in the down position, he would have been off duty two hours ago. The crossing hadn’t been a big deal, but he had been needed to monitor traffic and manage the situation until a worker from the railroad showed up to fix the gate. With this job, even if there wasn’t an emergency, there was always some reason to be late. It was part and parcel of being the Deputy Sheriff of Smithville.
One glance at the brightly lit Inn made him cringe. He’d much rather spend an hour sitting in the patrol car in the dark, than be at the Christmas pageant planning meeting. “Why d—did I ever agree to c—come?” he asked the car ceiling.
The crowd wasn’t the problem. He was perfectly comfortable on a ball field, or with his music, but public gatherings where he was expected to mingle, weren’t his forte. There was no getting out of it, however, so he opened the door and stepped into the chilly December evening. Years as a deputy governed his movements and intuitively he scanned the yard.
Assured that all was well, he jogged up the drive and across the expanse of lawn with athletic grace. His mind spun through scenarios of the evening ahead. First and foremost, he was late, so he’d have to deal with the ribbing and questions involved.
Yanking off his uniform cap, he ran his fingers through his dark wavy hair, sweeping it back from his forehead. His hairstyle was shaved short on the sides, as per the deputy requirement, but he pushed the rules by keeping it long on top. He liked it that way, hidden under his cap, even though it had a way of falling across his forehead. Hiding his unconventional streak was part and parcel of who he was.
As he neared the Inn, his trained eye took in the halo of light falling across the decorated porch. He could hear the rumble of the gathering inside as well as the tinkling tones of Christmas carols. The old place offered a welcoming vibe, and he relaxed a few notches. But then his gaze fixed on the form of a person in the shadows at the far end of the porch and he slowed. The hair on the back of his neck stood up as he evaluated the situation, circling just outside the reach of the porch light.
To his relief, the shadow appeared to be a woman, and if the sniffling sounds she made were any indication, she was sobbing her heart out. Her sadness was definitely out of place at the cheerful gathering.
Unsure who she could be, he watched as the shadow slumped against the wall and swiped the back of her hand under her nose. Professional wariness now set aside, he contemplated the situation. Smithville was certainly no crime-haven, but he was relieved nonetheless.
“Poor thing,” he muttered, wondering what had happened to make her sit outside, alone, and in the cold.
Her head came up, aware that someone approached, and she stared hard toward where he stood hidden in the shadows. “Who’s there?” She sniffled, her words choked with tears.
Ned had no idea what to say. Should he intervene? She obviously wanted to be alone. “Are you okay?” he finally asked, his words soothing and low, as per his training. “Are you hurt?”
She shrugged and brushed at her tears. “I’m fine, just—” She sniffed, embarrassed at being discovered.
Not wanting to make her feel worse, he moved back. Dealing with traumatized people and putting things in order was part of his training, but once he stepped outside his role as a deputy, his social confidence flagged. “Do you— need help?”
She scoffed, brushing her bangs from her eyes, and he knew who the girl was; Gloria, Fergus’s granddaughter.
Why her? A crying woman was bad enough, but he’d admired Gloria for years. She was lovely, stunning actually. Her red hair and freckles gave her a certain sweetness. Add her curvy figure and bright blue eyes… Yet another reason to avoid the situation. “Well, if you’re okay, I’ll leave you.” He turned away.
“Who are you?” she asked, her eyes searching the darkness.
He paused mid-stride; his training kicked in once again. Maybe he shouldn’t leave her alone. “I’m— a friend,” he finally said, wishing he could offer something more profound.
She sniffed.
“It’s cold. You— you should go inside,” he added.
The shadow of Gloria shrugged, so he turned again to leave. But then he halted and glanced back. “Please don’t cry,” he comforted, his voice soft with concern.
The shadow moved away from the wall, and his guard came up. What would she do? It felt wrong to leave her there alone, he couldn’t help, unless he acted as a Deputy. She looked more like she needed a friend. So, what should he do? He couldn’t even talk to women when he planned to, let alone come up with intelligent things to say when he wasn’t prepared. Beautiful women unhinged him, especially when they were crying. And this particular woman was special. It was hopeless; he’d stutter like a fool. He’d found ways to manage when his was in Deputy mode. A pause when he felt a stutter coming on, modulated his speech. This situation was altogether different.
“What do you care anyway,” the girl mumbled under her breath.
Drawn out of his pity-party, he frowned. Obviously, someone inside had said something to hurt her, and he couldn’t fix that, but he could at least offer some kindness. Maybe he could take her mind off things. It was the least he could do. It’s not like he was in a hurry to get inside. Putting his own discomfort aside, he turned back toward the porch.
I’m a grown man for heaven sakes, not a schoolboy.
But for some reason, his feet wouldn’t move. Speaking up from the darkness was one thing, but talking face to face with Gloria was too much. His thoughts spun, his ego arguing with his sensible side. Finally, he decided maybe they’d both
be happier if he just talked to her from the shadows. So, wracking his brain, he searched for something eloquent to say. He needed to come up with something inspirational, something sweet, that would help her get through this rough spot, and find a way to face going back inside. What would help her overlook someone’s rudeness and get back into the party?
A favorite line came to mind, one that helped him, and he quoted it in his best voice. “Miles Davis once said— ‘Don’t worry about— playing a lot of notes, just— find the pretty ones’.”
“So that’s it.” She sniffed. “I don’t care if you think I’m pretty. Just leave me alone.”
Great, she’d taken the quote the wrong way. “No, n—no…” He back peddled. “I meant—” Floundering never got him anywhere, so he fell silent. His shoulders dropped, and he clamped his eyes closed. Regaining a sense of calm, he tried again. “I meant that quote a— different way, but if I said you’re— pretty, it’s simply the truth. And my— Momma says ‘always— tell the truth’.”
Wow, I recovered that fairly well.
He’d cleared up the confusion and complimented her, and he hadn’t stuttered once. Being hidden must make all the difference.
Gloria’s shadow straightened. “Well, my momma always said there are only two things wrong with men. Everything they say, and everything they do.”
His face fell. What on earth am I doing out here in the cold, making grandiose quotes? What did I expect, applause?
There was only so much he could do standing in the dark, so, unless he had the guts to actually talk to her in person, he needed to clear out. “I’m going to— go in now, do you— want me to send someone out to you?”
“I’m okay; I’ll go in soon,” she said, wiping at her eyes.
Feeling uneasy, he turned and hurried away into the darkness to circle the house. Tripping on a tree root he nearly fell, but within a minute he was on the back deck of the Inn.
Leaving Gloria alone on the porch didn’t sit well with him, but what could he do? His steps slowed. He could have sat next to her and offered a listening ear, that’s what he could have done.
Through the French doors, he could see a crowd in the kitchen, laughing and talking as they ate cookies on napkins and sipped punch from paper cups. The gathering appeared to be more of a party than a meeting. “Typical Smithville,” he muttered under his breath.
He approached the door, opened it, and sidestepped into the Inn kitchen. With extra care, he closed the door behind him. With the crowd’s voices raised over the pumping holiday music, it hadn’t been hard to sneak in. Proud of himself for avoiding a late entrance scene, he reached for a cookie. He leaned a hip against the counter, looking nonchalant, as if he’d been in the kitchen all along.
Tara glanced his way, then did a double take. “There you are!” Taking one last look at her baby daughter, safe in a guest’s arms, she pushed past several people to get to his side. “Where—”
He raised one hand, to shush her. “You’re n—needed on the porch,” he said, then took a big bite of cookie.
Her eyes widened in surprise. “The porch?”
He nodded, indicating his full mouth, then motioned for her to get moving. This was Tara’s home; she’d know what to do about Gloria.
Tara’s pretty face scrunched in confusion and she eyed him suspiciously, but hurried away toward the living room.
One advantage of being a deputy was that people usually didn’t argue with his authority.
Justin, Tara’s husband, stood behind the table filling his cup with punch. He spotted Ned through the crowd and grinned. Shouldering through the throng of people, he lifted a hand in greeting. “You made it!” he said, thumping his friend good-naturedly on the shoulder. “Where’ve you been hiding?”
“Been r—right here,” Ned said, reaching for another cookie.
Justin’s eyes narrowed. “You have a way of popping up and disappearing, don’t you? Well, come on into the living room, I’ve staked out a spot on the sofa.” He motioned for Ned to follow.
* * *
“Only play the pretty notes? The pretty notes…” It was kind of a sweet quote if you applied it to music, but she hadn’t considered that.
Tara creaked open the front door, causing a tumble of voices, Christmas music, and a sliver of light, to fall across the porch.
Gloria glanced up but stayed slumped against the wall. The evening had shaped up to be a complete mess. How embarrassing, getting caught crying alone at a party. Who was that guy anyway? She felt like she should have known his voice, but she couldn’t place it. And when he’d tried to help, she’d bit his head off.
His words echoed in her mind. ‘…find the pretty notes.’ But then the reason she’d been out here in the first place flooded back, and tears threatened again. The women’s sideways glances, pursed lips, and turned backs, had been more than she could bear.
She should have known the meeting would be a disaster.
Why did she even try to make friends in Smithville? People in this town were either crazy or never forgot a damn thing. It was hopeless. She should just go home. Fergus had been kind enough to act like having a sandwich for dinner was his idea of perfection, but she knew better. The poor old man. She should have cooked him dinner and stayed at home with him, where she belonged.
“Gloria, there you are.” Tara puffed, hugging her arms across her chest for warmth. She pulled the door closed, then headed across the porch. “I’ve been looking for you.”
Gloria swiped once more at the tears, resolved to leave the meeting. She stood, her jaw set. “I’m going home…” she said, sidestepping past her friend.
Tara and Justin owned this Inn and the connected spa where she worked part-time as the receptionist, but she never thought of Tara as a boss figure, she was too down to earth for all that.
“Wait,” Tara protested, grabbing Gloria’s elbow as she passed. “You can’t leave, we need you.”
Gloria shook off Tara’s hand and continued toward the porch steps, but Tara stepped in front of her.
“What’s going on?” Tara questioned, “What happened?”
Gloria crossed her arms over her chest, her eyes on the row of poinsettias lining the edge of the porch. “Nothing.”
Tara’s expression softened, and she took Gloria by the elbow, leading her back toward the seats. “It doesn’t look like nothing.”
Dropping limply into a wicker chair, Gloria’s tears flowed once again, and she brushed them away in frustration.
Tara settled into a chair opposite and patted her friend’s knee. “It’s okay to cry, go ahead. I’ll wait.”
In the darkness, with sympathetic company, the dam broke, and Gloria wept. The tears fell like rain, filled with embarrassment, loneliness, hurt, and desperation. Wondering where she’d been storing so much grief, she gasped and choked, no longer able to hold back months of unhappiness.
Tara bit her bottom lip and drew a lock of long dark hair over her shoulder, absently running her fingers through it as she waited. Occasionally she patted Gloria’s knee, watching as the girl sniffed and sobbed. “Where are Winnie’s lacy hankies when you need one?” she muttered.
When Gloria’s tears finally subsided to sniffles, Tara spoke, choosing her words carefully. “I know how it is to feel alone.”
The redhead looked up, pale under her freckles and her eyes rimmed red. “But, everyone likes you.”
Tara scoffed. “Not everyone, you know how prickly I can be.”
Gloria shrugged.
“We need your help with the Christmas pageant. You’re the only who can sew the costumes,” Tara continued.
“Hmph.”
“Look, I’m not sure who hurt your feelings,” Tara tried again, “but I know this town needs you. I’m your friend; you can talk to me. Lizzie, Julia and Winnie are your friends too.”
Gloria pulled a face. “What about Chad?”
“What about him?”
“You know we dated,” Gloria continued, sure t
hat Tara was having a memory lapse.
“So?” Tara said, shrugging.
Gloria gave her a look. “You don’t think Julia cares that I dated her future husband?”
“Well, that was before he met Julia, right?”
“Yeah, but—”
“So technically, she stole him from you.” Tara interrupted. “You should be mad at her.”
Amazement registered across Gloria’s face, and she blinked a few times. “Well, I, I couldn’t be mad at her. She’s so sweet, and—”
“Look,” Tara said, standing. “I’ve heard the talk about you, and as far as I’m concerned, it’s ridiculous. Those women are just insecure. You haven’t flirted with any of the guys since they got married, have you?”
Gloria jumped to her feet. “Of course not!”
“Well, there you go.” Tara blustered. “If anything, you should be snooty and rude to them. Get a grump on, girl. A little anger can go a long way when you’re feeling down. It keeps you on your toes.”
Gloria considered Tara’s words. “I never thought of it that way.”
“Nope,” Tara said, taking Gloria by the elbow, tugging her toward the front door. “Because you’ve got a heart of gold. But for now, when those women look at you, just know they’re worried because you’re so fabulous.”
“But I’m not—”
“Nope, not gonna have it,” Tara contended, jerking open the front door and shoving Gloria through. “We need you.”
Before Gloria could contest any further, Lizzie joined them, and the pair hustled her toward the kitchen, jabbering about costumes and fabric. When Gloria balked, Lizzie, the manager of the spa, linked one elbow through hers, and Gloria wondered if it was to show her support or to keep her from running. Either way, friendship surrounded her like a shield and she drew strength from the women.
But through the hubbub she wondered who the kind man on the porch has been. Between his strange, but kind words, and Tara and Lizzie’s support, she would find enough gumption to get through the meeting.
Hometown Series Box Set Page 81
