by Lori Wilde
On Wednesday morning, he went to J.C. Penney’s and bought a purple shirt, because she said she loved the color. She laughed when she saw him in it. He asked her to go fishing. They took hamburgers with them from The Lunch Box—no cranberries, quinoa, or feta cheese allowed. When Shannon caught a small sun perch, she laughed with such joy that the sound had Nate thinking all kinds of seditious things about a long, slow courtship. He wanted her, and he wanted her now.
But the Navy had taught him patience, and so he kept waiting.
On Thursday, he asked her to go with him to the annual community tradition of decorating the town Christmas tree that Saturday evening. Shannon’s smile of agreement followed him home to his bed where Nate coped with sexual frustration the best way he could. Hand therapy.
On Friday, he couldn’t wait to get to the Horny Toad to see her again. He’d made peanut-butter-and-strawberry-jelly sandwiches, carefully cut the crusts off, and wrapped them in plastic wrap. His plan was to share this simple supper with her during her meal break. But when he got there, a part-time waitress was waiting tables.
“Where’s Shannon?” he asked, surprised by the nervous stab in his stomach. His first fear was that he’d come on too strong and she’d left Twilight as unexpectedly as she’d arrived.
“She took the day off.”
“Oh,” he said, disappointed that she hadn’t told him. And the sharp edge of that disappointment told him he was sinking deep. Instead of staying for a beer, he just turned and went home.
Clutching a platter of homemade haystack cookies, Raylene walked in Rinky-Tink’s with Shannon following right behind her.
The century-old ice cream parlor had been stripped of its creamy treats. Their footsteps echoed loudly on the weathered hardwood floors. The 1950s era décor of the pink-and-turquoise tables and chairs were still there along with photographs of the ice cream parlor throughout the past one hundred years.
“This place must have really been something, once upon a time,” Shannon murmured.
“It was,” Raylene said wistfully. “Earl and I shared our first banana split over in that corner right there.”
“Earl?”
“My high school sweetheart,” Raylene mumbled, not wanting to talk about her husband to Shannon. There was too much to explain. She hadn’t even realized she’d spoken out loud.
In her mind’s eye, she saw her sixteen-year-old self, long blond hair parted down the middle and hanging straight down her back. Wearing a pair of purple hot pants and white, knee-high go-go boots.
Every boy in the place had stared at Earl with envy. Earl in his black leather jacket and scuffed cowboy boots. A cross between a wrangler and a motorcycle-riding bad boy. Except Earl had always had a heart of gold. The bad-boy thing had been an affectation. Trying to look tough to impress Raylene.
“Ray?” a voice called from the rear of the store. “We’re back here in the party room.”
Raylene led Shannon into the biggest part of the ice cream parlor, where birthday parties were held. On the long folding table decorated with a Christmas-themed, red-and-green tablecloth stretched a wide assortment of cookies. At the end of the table sat a champagne bucket filled with ice and wine.
Raylene introduced her employee to the ladies of the First Love Cookie Club and edged her over to the far end of the table, where the younger, newer members were hanging out—Flynn MacGregor, Emma Cheek, Caitlyn Garza, Christine Noble, and Raylene’s niece by marriage, Sarah Walker.
A very pregnant Flynn, who looked as if she was about to pop that baby out at any minute, welcomed Shannon with a one-armed hug and explained the rules of the cookie club. No men. No kids. No store-bought. Let the cookies, gossip, and Christmas spirit flow.
They welcomed Shannon as if she was an instant member of the community. That’s what Raylene loved about these women. They made a stranger feel right at home. Raylene took a seat next to Patsy Cross, who couldn’t stop talking about her impending wedding. Raylene didn’t mind. Patsy had waited over forty years to finally marry the love of her life. But she did tune her out a bit, her mind woolgathering to last Christmas, when her world had come to a crashing halt.
The party was lively. Much teasing, joking, and laughter. The cookies were tasty. The wine was inexpensive but delicious. The company pleasant as always. But all Raylene could think about was what was missing.
Earl.
Her thoughts strayed to the white poinsettias on her office desk. Had Earl left them on her doorstep for her to find? She’d wanted to believe that with all her heart, but there had been no further indication that it was true.
But if not Earl, then who?
Sometimes, when she went out to her car at night she’d get the strangest feeling she was being watched. Not in a creepy way, but in the way you sometimes felt in church. Like God was watching over you, and no harm could ever come to you as long as you kept the faith.
Yeah? When was the last time you were in church?
Raylene had long ago backslid from her Methodist upbringing, but that feeling made her hungry for forgiveness. She shifted her gaze to the end of the table, studied Shannon. The younger woman’s face was aglow, as she listened to Emma telling a story about her five-month-old daughter, Lauren.
Not for the first time, Raylene wondered about Shannon. Who was she, really? What was she doing here in Twilight? What was she running from? How long would she stay?
Raylene wasn’t a soft touch by any means, but Shannon had gotten to her, and she really couldn’t say why. She liked the woman a lot. Which was odd, because they had nothing in common.
And the thought of her leaving sent a nostalgic sadness seeping into her bones. If you were lucky enough to spend sixty years on the face of the earth, a lot of things fell by the wayside. Youth. Hobbies. Habits. Employees. Friends. Family. The love of your life.
Shannon must have felt Raylene’s eyes on her, because she shifted her attention from Emma and met her gaze head on.
In that moment, with that particular expression on her face—part curiosity, part puzzlement, and part disdain—she looked just like Lance.
It occurred to Raylene that Shannon was around the same age as her own daughter. The child she’d never seen a picture of. Had never spoken to. Had never even touched.
The old grief rose up, slicing and piercing. She clamped her teeth together and glanced away, fighting back the tears welling in her eyes. What would happen if she tried to contact her daughter now? She’d already lost Earl. Everyone in Twilight had learned her dirty secret.
Raylene had nothing left to lose.
The only thing that held her back was the thought of hurting her daughter. The last thing she wanted was to intrude.
Is that the real reason? Or is it that you’re afraid she won’t forgive you?
“You’re awfully quiet tonight, Ray.” Patsy put a hand on her forearm. “Are you all right?”
Unable to meet her friend’s eyes, Raylene shook her head.
Patsy wrapped an arm around her shoulder, leaned in close. “It’s going to be okay. Really it is.”
Raylene pressed the back of her hand to her nose, determined not to cry. How would that look? She had the reputation of being the outspoken, unsentimental one. She was uncomfortable with pity. It made her feel weak.
“Dotty Mae,” she called to the elderly lady sitting beside the champagne bucket. “Stop being a wine hog and pass that bottle.”
Shannon went back to her apartment with a box of swapped cookies under her arm and a pinch of sadness in her heart. She had really enjoyed herself tonight, and she’d loved meeting the lively women of the First Love Cookie Club. The more time she spent in Twilight, the more enamored she became of the quaint, small-town community.
But she could not afford to fall in love with the place.
Or with Nat
e Deavers.
Nate.
Today had been the first day she hadn’t seen him this week, and she’d missed him. That was bad. Really bad. She was setting herself up for heartache. She was going to have to start weaning herself off him, and soon. Because eventually, she would have to confront Raylene, and her purpose for being here would come to an end. If she was being honest with herself, she’d have to admit that Nate was the reason she hadn’t already faced down her mother.
She thought of how Raylene had looked at the party, so sad and wistful. The woman was clearly suffering. She didn’t talk about Earl much, but the pain was evident in her eyes. She hadn’t expected to feel sorry for Raylene, but she did. She found herself thinking that maybe she should wait until after the holidays to tell her who she was. It would be pretty thoughtless to confront Raylene so close to Christmas.
Shannon undressed and put on her Betty Boop nightshirt. She smoothed it down over her hips, thought of Nate, and smiled. They had a date tomorrow. To go decorate the town Christmas tree. Was it silly that she was so excited?
This isn’t your town. He’s not your man. You’ve got a life back in New York. Stop painting a rosy romantic picture here.
But did she really have a life in New York? Her grandfather was gone, her inheritance diminished. Her devious ex had used and discarded her. What was left for her there?
On the other hand, it was the only life she’d ever known. Growing up in that stiff, formal home with grandparents—who, while they had loved her, had trouble showing their emotions—she’d learned to stay calm, cool, distant, detached.
Yet now, at the mid-point of her life, there was a small voice inside her whispering, “You can start over. Build a new life. Become a different person.”
Such a hopeful thought.
She lay in bed, tossing the thoughts back and forth, recalling the events of the night. How at the end of the party, all the ladies of the cookie club had toasted the old-fashioned ice cream parlor and told stories of their memories of the place. Rinky-Tink’s would be sorely missed. The passing of an era. Leaving a hole in the fabric of the community.
Unless someone bought it and restored the place to its former glory.
Shannon drifted off to sleep and dreamed of ice cream, Twilight, her new friends, and Nate.
CHAPTER EIGHT
Nate showed up at dusk, wearing blue jeans, a brown western shirt, and tan blazer. He’d gotten a haircut, and he looked quite handsome standing on her doorstep with long stalks of gladiolas in his hand.
Shannon grinned at him. “Where did you find gladiolas this time of year?”
“Fort Worth.”
“You drove all that way for me?”
“I’d drive to New York City and back for you,” he said earnestly.
“You’re spoiling me.”
“You deserve it.”
His gentle seduction was so different from the mad-dash whirlwind Peter had caught her up in, but she was still afraid to trust her feelings.
“Nate,” she murmured.
“I’m coming on too strong.”
“No.” She smiled faintly. “You’re fine. It’s not you. It’s me.”
“Uh-oh,” he said. “That’s always a bad sign when a woman says it’s not you. That’s code for it is you.”
“Listen, you’re an up-front guy, and I appreciate that about you, but there’s things about me that I just can’t tell you about. Not now.”
“You’ve got secrets.”
“I do, and you hate secrets.”
He said nothing. Just stood in the doorway holding the gladiolas, looking forlorn. Finally, he said, “Are the things that you’re keeping secret something we can get beyond?”
Her heart crawled into her throat. “Honestly, Nate, I don’t know.”
“Do you want to put these in water?” he asked gruffly, extending the flowers toward her.
“Yes, sure.” She took the flowers and carried them to the small kitchenette, filled a tall glass with water. The colorful flowers instantly brightened the drab little room.
“You might want to get a heavier jacket,” he said. “The temperature is supposed to dip down in the low forties tonight.”
“We’re still going?”
“I want to be with you.”
“Even if it’s only temporary?”
“Yes.”
She almost told him then. Let him off the tenterhooks. Revealed who she was. But she couldn’t do it. Not until she talked to Raylene.
He touched her shoulder. “Let’s just have a pleasant evening and not worry about anything beyond that.”
“Thank you.” She breathed her relief, and in her relief she realized why she was really holding back from telling Nate who she was. She was afraid of getting too close. Of letting herself love again, too quickly and foolishly as she’d done before. She was allowing this thing between her and Raylene put a wall between her and Nate.
She’d learned a lot about herself this past year, after her grandfather died, and Peter took her money, and Earl Pringle appeared on Christmas Day to tell her about her mother.
Shannon had come to realize that she was as important as everyone else. She’d taken care of her grandparents, and, truly, she hadn’t minded. But she’d put her own life on hold to do so. She’d let her father slide on his parental responsibilities. She made excuses for him. He was a Peter Pan and she’d been grateful for any attention he showed her.
But she’d accepted crumbs, when she could have had a banquet. Because she’d had so little experience at asking for what she needed, she’d been a sitting duck for a con man like Peter.
Ultimately, she was ashamed that she’d been so easily duped. So desperate for love that she’d been unable to see the wolf lurking beneath the sheep’s clothing.
That’s why she was putting up barriers in a relationship with Nate. Not because she had doubts about him, but because she had doubts about herself.
It was also why she’d waited a year before coming to Twilight. She’d buckled down and done some hard work, examining who she was and what she wanted. And if she was going to become an independent woman who faced life on her own terms, she had to have an equal partnership. She also needed to take things very slowly. Nate, on the other hand, seemed to be at a place in his life where he was ready for a committed relationship, and that just wasn’t something she could offer him right now.
He helped her on with her coat and put his hand to the small of her back, as he guided her down the stairs. He was big, but he was calm and quiet, and she felt an overwhelming sense of peace whenever she was with him.
Just having him at her side made her feel better. By the time they reached the town square, with the spirit of Christmas all around her, Shannon felt her anxiety disappear.
“How does this work?” she asked after Nate parked his truck and they walked hand-in-hand toward the twenty-foot tree erected on the town square. “This community tree-decorating thing.”
“Chaos.” He chuckled. A man of few words.
The sky was clear, and it looked like a million silver stars had been strewn over navy blue velvet. Santa’s workshop was a hot spot. Kids lined up to sit on the jolly man’s lap and whisper in his ear their most fervent wishes.
Shannon smiled, remembering when life was that simple. You made a wish, believed really hard, and woke up on Christmas morning to the magic of miracles. And then you grew up and learned the truth. There was no such thing as magic or miracles.
Street vendors were set up around the square selling hot chocolate and hot apple cider and steaming cups of coffee. The smell of roasting chestnuts threaded through the air. Mistletoe had been strung from every tree on the courthouse lawn. Couples were stealing kisses here, there, and everywhere.
“C’mon,” he said. “They’re about to start.”
&nb
sp; Nate guided her over to where the crowd encircled the community Christmas tree. The mayor was up on a stage with a bullhorn. A rope cordoned off the crowd from the large tree. Boxes of tinsel, ornaments, popcorn, cranberry garlands, and candy canes lay just beyond the ropes. Waiting for the onslaught.
“Ready?” the mayor asked over the bullhorn.
“Yes!” hollered the crowd.
“Light ’er up, Floyd,” the mayor said to the man standing beside him with a gigantic extension cord and plug in his hand.
Floyd married the prongs into the socket, and the Christmas tree lit up glittery-golden from top to bottom. The crowd burst into applause.
“Hang onto my belt loop,” Nate said.
“What?”
“Hang onto my belt loop.”
“Why?”
“Just trust me and do it.”
Feeling a bit weird, she hooked her index fingers around the belt loops at the back of Nate’s jeans. She couldn’t help taking a peek at his exceptionally fine behind. The man had an ass that would not quit.
“Drop the ropes,” the mayor said.
The ropes fluttered to the ground, and there was a huge surge forward. People jostled them from all sides. Nate plowed forward, towing Shannon behind him like a skier.
Now it all made sense. He was right. It was total, joyous chaos. Both young and old and everyone in between were snatching up ornaments and garlands and candy canes and hanging them pell-mell on the tree in no particular order. No rhyme. No reason. No scheme or theme.
“Go for it,” Nate said, handing her a large red plastic Christmas ball.
Grinning, Shannon joined the free-for-all. She went for the first bare limb she saw and looped the ball around it. Nate handed her another decoration, and just like that they fell into an easy rhythm, a smooth team. He fed her ornaments, and she hung them. Before they knew it, the supply of decorations had been decimated.
“All the ornaments are on the bottom,” Shannon whispered behind her hand.
“Don’t worry. Tomorrow some guy in a cherry picker will rearrange everything so it’s all balanced out.”
