Sugar Creek Christmas Nook

by Jenny B. Jones

  “Leave the her alone, Fran,” Sylvie said. “They’ll figure it out. I’m just working on persuading my girl here to stay in Sugar Creek forever.” She patted Emma’s cold cheeks. “I’ve never seen you so happy. Even happier than that time I took you to that boy band concert in Little Rock.”

  “The one where you pushed me out of the way so you could throw your bra onstage?”

  Sylvie blew into her cup. “I’m sure it was a move for your bodily protection.”

  “You know I have to go back soon,” Emma said. “I’ve sent in most of the video footage and photos I need. I’m about to submit the rest of my copy, then it’s just a matter of my boss reviewing it and seeing if I’ve redeemed my bah humbug ways and brought him the Christmas story he wanted.” Sugar Creek had turned out to be the perfect haven to get away, to revive her weary spirit, and to deliver Sunrise News just what they wanted.

  “Well, at least you’re here for Christmas,” Sylvie said. “That’s the best gift a grandma could ask for.”

  “Except that new Luger pistol,” Frannie said. “That thing’ll put a turkey on the dinner table.”

  Those two would never change. “I should go find Noah. I wanted to meet the editor from that magazine he said was here.” Emma kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “Love you, Sylvie.”

  Sylvie’s smile couldn’t hide her motherly concern. “You too, Shug. You too.”

  Emma enjoyed the stroll back to the square, taking slow steps, giving herself the chance to say hello to people and watch all the activity. In New York, people moved so fast. There were miles to walk, subways to catch, and places to be. But not in Sugar Creek. Not tonight.

  It was the first night for movies on the square, and a giant screen had been hung from an old two-story building so families could set up their lawn chairs, cover up with blankets, and watch Miracle on 34th Street. She followed the sidewalk back to the middle of the square where the majestic tree blinked brightly enough to make Oklahoma jealous. The local women’s choir had taken over the music, and their blends of alto and soprano lilted through the breeze.

  Emma saw her father before he noticed her.

  He stood with his arm around a woman, their heads bent in intimate conversation.

  The child in her wanted to turn on her heel and walk away.

  The adult in her knew she needed to go speak.

  That adult would probably need a drink later.

  Emma approached the couple, not quite able to work up the fake television smile that rarely failed her. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Emma.” His voice was full of jolly tidings. “I was hoping to run into you here. This is my wife, Cheryl.”

  “It’s so nice to meet you,” the woman said. She wore a bob much like Emma’s mom had, but instead of blonde tresses, Cheryl’s was Clairol brown. “Your dad and I watch you on TV all the time.”

  Emma glanced at her dad. “That’s very nice.”

  “When you interviewed last year’s Oscar winners, I just about peed my pants.”

  Emma smiled at her father’s wife. “That would make two of us.” She didn’t want to like Cheryl, but the woman seemed genuinely kind.

  “We’re staying out at the hunting lodge on the creek,” Emma’s father said. “You should come out and have dinner with us tomorrow night.”

  “Oh, yes!” Cheryl’s hands fluttered with every word. “I could cook for us.”

  “Cheryl’s a great cook.”

  Emma’s mother had been as well. “I would like that, but I have to work.”

  Cheryl gave a dramatic sigh. “Like father, like daughter. This man works all the time. I made him promise to cut back this Christmas. Do you know he’s only performing twice a week this month? And he has the entire week of Christmas off.”

  “That’s great.” For a woman who had made her living with words, Emma couldn’t think of anything beyond the generic.

  “I really would love to see you,” her father said. “We could catch up. It’s been a few years.”

  “And, of course, I’m so looking forward to getting to know you.” Cheryl beamed at Emma like she was one of Hollywood’s elite. “Your father talks about you all the time.”

  He does?

  “Don’t forget, we’re here all month, so we simply must get together,” Cheryl said. “Oh, someone seems to be looking for you.” She held up her mittened hand and waved. “Hi, there, Mayor Kincaid.”

  It was like Noah had planted one of Sylvie’s eavesdropping devices on Emma. He seemed to know just when she needed him near.

  “Noah Kincaid.” He extended his arm and shook the couple’s hands, then reeled Emma to his side. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

  “We were just telling Emma we’re staying at the hunting cabins at the edge of town,” Edward said. “We’d love to have you two for dinner tomorrow night.”

  Emma jabbed her elbow into Noah’s side. “I mentioned we’d be working pretty late.”

  “Right.” Noah was a terrible liar. “It’s a very busy time with all the city preparations.”

  “It was good to see you, Em,” her father said. “I hope you can make time to stop by.”

  “I’m a hugger,” Cheryl said before she put the bear grip on both Emma and Noah. “So, so excited to meet you both!” The woman gave Emma a woman-to-woman wink. “Hang onto that one!”

  They both watched them leave. “She’s nice,” Noah said.

  She was also overbearing, space-invading, holiday sweater-wearing, and not her mother. “Yeah.”

  Noah turned and held out his arms. “I’m a hugger.” And before Emma could protest, he had her wrapped in tightly, his chin resting on her head. “Babe, you’re as rigid as that giant tree.”

  Emma closed her eyes, giving over to the battering ram of emotions that always accompanied a visit with her father. Only this time, it was different. Because now he had a wife. Technically Emma had a stepmother. He couldn’t get it together to be a dad, but being a husband again was apparently no problem.

  “You okay?” Noah rubbed his hands over her back.

  “I’m fine.”

  “Fine as in you want to borrow Sylvie’s throwing stars and tear something up, or fine as in you think you’re going to be okay?”

  She smiled against his coat. “It’s just hard. On one hand, he’s a stranger. But on the other, that was my dad. The dad who came as a set with my mom.”

  “Where are you at on the whole forgiveness thing?”

  Leave it to the attorney to get right to the point. “I’m not sure,” Emma said, then asked the question that had begun to haunt her on sleepless nights. “How did you forgive me for what I did?”

  Noah’s hands stilled, and he took a moment to reply. “I just decided what happened in the past wasn’t nearly as important as what I wanted to happen now.” He looked at her with so much tenderness and understanding, Emma thought she might break into a million pieces. “He’s not going away, Em. You’ve got to decide where he fits into your life.” His eyes darkened as he took a step back. “Probably need to decide where I fit as well.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  The next few weeks flew by on snowbird wings of bliss. Emma felt like everywhere she went, cartoon hearts surely floated over her head. It was impossible to hide how obscenely happy she was. She and Noah spent every evening together, sometimes going out, maybe to her favorite restaurant in nearby Fayetteville, or just sitting side by side on his couch, both of them working contentedly on their laptops. This was the clean version of “what I do with my evenings,” Emma always gave Sylvie. The truth might’ve been a little steamier, and a whole lot more fun.

  Delores just grunted her disapproval at the boss dating his marketing director, but Delores grunted everything from her coffee order to her directions for the jammed copier, so Emma didn’t get too concerned.

  Sylvie was already picking out matching gun holsters for the wedding she was convinced would eventually happen, but somehow Emma didn’t find the thought as amusing as her gran
dmother did. Emma loved Noah, but every time he broached the subject of their future, she steered the conversation in another direction. How could she tell him the thought of marriage scared her, even if it was with the best man God ever created? More importantly, how did she tell Noah she was in twice-daily talks with her producer at Sunrise News, and her invitation to return would come sooner rather than later? Emma wanted Noah to move to New York with her, but she feared she already knew his answer. His life was in Sugar Creek. Could she ask him to give it all up—his job and home he loved—to live in the big city?

  Emma stepped into Noah’s office for their daily noon date and immediately knew something was wrong.

  His tie lay curled like a snake on his desk, his sleeves were rolled to his forearms like a weatherman bracing for a night of storms, and he had clearly shoved his fingers through his disheveled hair more than once.

  “And you’ve checked every flight out of Utah?” Noah said into his phone. “Why would they fly out of Salt Lake in the first place? I thought they were coming from Los Angeles.” Noah glanced up at Emma and did not flash her his usual smile. His face looked downright grizzly. “The gala starts at seven, so no, I don’t think a bus is going to work unless the band wants to perform at breakfast. Yes, yes, I’m sorry too.” Without saying goodbye, Noah clicked off his phone and dropped it to his desk.

  “What’s wrong?” Emma stepped behind Noah, set her hands to his shoulders, and began to knead at the knotted muscles.

  “The band we hired for the gala can’t make it. They’re snowed in with no way out.”

  “Oh, no.”

  Noah had arranged for a popular country group to perform and tickets to the gala had sold out within days.

  “There’s no way they can be here?” she asked.

  “None.”

  “Maybe I can find someone. I’ve got a few connections.” Emma knew many celebrities, and some of them could possibly be sweet-talked into doing a little pro-bono performance in exchange for future exposure on Sunrise News.

  “If we don’t find someone, I’m letting your grandma sing.”

  Emma dug her thumbs into Noah’s shoulders and smiled. “Her favorite song is ‘Machine Gun’ by Jimi Hendrix.” She placed a soft kiss on Noah’s cheek. “Ought to be a real hit.”

  Emma went back to her office, typed a list of every possible musician or band she knew, then began the difficult task of contacting their reps. People who had people were not easy to track down. Especially four days before Christmas.

  When her cell phone rang an hour later, it wasn’t her favorite pop artist on the other end but Mr. Peterson, her boss at the show.

  “Emma, is this a bad time?”

  “Of course not.” She put on her most polite voice, filtering out the dread that threatened to accent each word. “What can I do for you?”

  “I’ve reviewed everything you’ve sent me. I thought we should discuss it.”

  Her stomach turned as if she’d swallowed spoiled egg nog. “I’d like to hear what you think.”

  “Well, my dear,” Mr. Peterson said, “I think it’s fabulous.”

  Emma’s hand froze on her keyboard. “You do?”

  “It’s everything we could want. Small towns are really hot right now, and that’s exactly what you’ve brought us. The interviews, the photos, the videos—it’s all just top notch. The before and after of Sugar Creek is really something, isn’t it? I mean this city went from a tiny town with no claim to fame except for a mention in Civil War history books to being on its way to establishing itself as a must-see Christmas road trip.”

  It was all true, but coming from someone else’s lips, someone who had not lived and breathed Sugar Creek, it sounded so cheap, so commercial. “It’s a very special town.”

  “In your last email you mentioned tonight was the gala.”

  “Yes, our last event.” And Emma’s last role as the marketing director.

  “I dispatched two camera guys to Arkansas this morning. I want to make sure this formal celebration gets quality shots. Rob and Jesse should be there tonight about six-thirty. Can you get them in?”

  “Sure,” she heard herself say.

  “You’ve done spectacular work, Emma. I couldn’t be prouder. Our viewers are going to love this.”

  “Thank you, sir.” Emma’s skin tingled with a dark foreboding. Everything Mr. Peterson said was so kind and complimentary. Yet she wasn’t ready for her New York life to intrude. She had been living in a snow globe world, going on like everything was perfect between her and Noah, visiting her grandmother whenever she wanted, and doing work that had unexpectedly refilled her empty well.

  “Production is already working on your piece. We should have it ready by the time you get back.”

  There it was. The dreaded date. Emma’s return had been something she had fiercely wanted in November. But now? Now she just wished she could press pause on this conversation and this part of her life, and go on for a bit longer with this life in Sugar Creek.

  “I have my job back?”

  “Of course you do. Sandra has the week of Christmas off, so we’ll need you in her seat with Charles.”

  “Maybe that’s a little rushed and—”

  “You’ll work the day of Christmas Eve as well. That’s when we’ll air your segment. We’re promoting it as our Christmas card to our viewers.”

  “How . . . clever.” Emma’s throat tightened, and she just wanted to curl up under the desk and pretend this phone call had never happened. “I had hoped to be with my family for Christmas. I thought my hiatus extended until the first of the year.”

  “Not anymore!” Mr. Peterson said as if handing Emma a winning lottery ticket. “In fact, I’d like you to go ahead and work the Christmas Day Parade. It will be ideal exposure for you. We need the readers to remember you as their morning sweetheart, and not their holiday Grinch.”

  “I promised my grandmother I would be with her at Christmas. And my—” What exactly did she call Noah? “My boyfriend is expecting—”

  “Emma, if you come through for me on this, and your Christmas story wins over viewers like I think it will, I’ve got big plans for you. The president is granting us the first interview once he leaves office. I think you could be just the person for the job.”

  “Me?” She couldn’t believe it. Mr. Peterson would assign her to that? No more interviews with over-hyped reality stars and pop divas? “I would love to interview the president. You know I can do it. I am the woman you want for that job.”

  “It’s good to have you back. Tie the ribbon on this Christmas project of ours, and hurry back home.”

  Emma held the phone in her hands long after the call was over.

  Hurry back home.

  There was no escaping it—Emma would be returning to New York.

  The question was, would Noah go with her?

  ****

  Emma checked her directions and turned onto a bumpy dirt road. The creek ran through town and widened near a large expanse of property now owned by Emma’s cousin Jack. Jack was another one of Sylvie’s grandchildren, though he tended to keep to himself. He had opened a guy’s paradise on the outskirts of Sugar Creek where people could stay in a quaint cabin and do all sorts of outdoorsy things on the few hundred acres of property. Hike, fish, mountain bike. Jack would even take folks out to hunt. To Emma, it sounded like a camo-wearing nightmare.

  Cabin Number Twelve.

  Emma drove past the main house until she saw the one Cheryl had said she and her father were occupying. The place looked rustic, but charming in its rural sort of way.

  Her boots crunched on the gravel as she got out of the car. Emma had taken no more than five steps when the door swung open and Cheryl nearly leapt outside.

  “Well, get in here darlin’!” Hair in a stubby ponytail, Cheryl ran to Emma and tackled her for a hug. “Don’t you smell pretty. You must tell me what perfume you wear sometime. I’m partial to Avon myself.”

  Emma’s dad appeared
in the doorway. “Hey, Em.”

  She took a big gulp of clean, country air. “Hi, Dad.”

  “Come on in. Cheryl just brewed a fresh pot of coffee.”

  She stepped inside and noticed her dad and new stepmother had made the place homier than Emma’s Manhattan apartment. Though they were staying for only a month, they had put up pictures of the two of them, even a few of Emma. A fire roared in the wood stove, and smells of cinnamon and vanilla wafted from the tiny kitchen.

  “I just made a batch of my Snickerdoodles,” Cheryl said. “You must have five or ten.”

  Emma smiled, but turned the offer down. “I’ll be returning to work in a few days. I’m afraid I have to return to my carb-free life.”

  “Well, that sounds just awful.” Cheryl bit into a cookie and grinned. “Life’s too short to choose a skirt size over cookies.”

  Easy for her to say. “Dad, can we talk?”

  “Sure, hon. Cheryl?”

  “I’ll just bee-bop out of your way. I’ve got a Nicholas Sparks book back in the bedroom, and I’m not sure, but I think someone might die in this one.”

  Edward gestured to a burgundy couch as Cheryl shut herself in a back room. “Want some coffee?”

  “No, thank you.” Emma sat on the edge of the cushion.

  “It must be important. Did you need to talk wedding plans perhaps? You know I’m good for the bill.”

  Maybe she did need a few cookies. “No, no wedding. I’ve come here to ask you a favor. I talked to Cheryl, and she said you’re not performing tonight.”

  “Nope. It’s one of my wife-mandated nights off.”

  “I need a favor from you.”

  “Anything,” her father said. “Tell me what you need.”

  Emma couldn’t believe these words were about to come out of her mouth. “I want you to put on a concert at the Sugar Creek Christmas gala.”

  Her father leaned forward in his chair and offered her his better ear. “Say that again?”

  She really didn’t want to, but for Noah and Sugar Creek—anything. “The band scheduled for the gala tonight got snowed in. I’ve gone through my extensive list of musician contacts, but no one can come to Arkansas this late. I know it’s last minute, but . . . would you sing for us tonight?”