“How did I know this would come back to my job?”
I pat the horse on the rear as it walks by. “Just a lucky guess?”
Sam steps deftly through the circle of horses and nods. A tobacco-stained smile lights up his weathered face. His eyes look bloodshot. Hopefully from staying up late with the festival. When I was younger, he’d often stagger over to take my money. But he did a stint in rehab not long after I moved here. As far as I know he’s been sober ever since. “Ready to ride, Miss Kristianna?”
“Yep.” I hold out my money.
“No charge.”
“Sam, how many times have I told you, you can’t make a living like that?”
He takes my five dollars, tucks it in his overalls pocket, then gives me a lift up onto the palomino. “Merry Christmas.”
“Merry Christmas, Sam. Good to see you again.”
“You, too.” He doffs his engineer cap to me.
“Thanks. I’m glad to be here.”
The horse doesn’t seem to notice that I’m on her back. I tilt my head back and close my eyes as she galumphs along. I don’t want this to go away. The festival, the closeness of the town, Jingle Bells. What would happen to Sam? I open my eyes and look out at the booths lined up side by side. There’s Big Bob, the guess-your-age-and-weight man. He’s so happy using his talent. And he always hands out a tract after he’s guessed, explaining how no matter your age or your weight, in the end all that matters is your relationship with Jesus. What would he do? Go to work for the sporting goods store? Maybe he could guess how many baseballs are in a barrel, but what if they won’t let him hand out his tract?
The horse stops suddenly. I sit there for a few seconds and stare out at the twinkling lights. All good things must end. Is that really true?
I walk back over to where Shawn is leaning against the fence.
“Have fun?”
I nod.
He smiles and shakes his head. “Then I don’t have to understand it, do I?” He takes my elbow and guides me back onto the sidewalk. “You fit in really well here.”
My heart lightens. I do, don’t I? “At the festival?” I cock my head and grin. “Are you saying I should have run away and joined the circus like I wanted to when I was ten?”
He rolls his eyes. “You fit in here in Jingle Bells.”
I glance over at him. “That’s a high compliment.”
“Want me to win you a tiger?” Shawn motions to the basketball booth.
“Sure. A girl can never have too many tigers.”
I spot a familiar figure swooshing the ball through the hoop as we approach.
Garrett looks up and waves. The tux is gone, of course, in favor of jeans and a polo shirt.
“Hey, man,” Shawn says and swings his hand out for an easy handshake. “You win all the prizes?”
Garrett shakes his hand and nods to me. “I told them to keep them.”
Shawn laughs, but I know, from previous experience, that it’s true. Garrett can’t miss at these games. I have a closet full of stuffed animals to prove it. Even after I gave at least half of them away to children’s hospitals.
Shawn pulls me gently toward his side and glances at Garrett. He nods toward the sign. Challenge a friend – Guaranteed Winner. “Want to do a challenge?”
“Nah.”
“You sure?” At least Shawn doesn’t say, You afraid? Or make clucking sounds, but the implication is there.
Garrett gives him a measured look then smiles. “You might show me up.”
“You know what?” I say brightly. “I’m getting a little old for stuffed animals. . .”
Shawn does a double take. “Let me get this straight. Pony rides are still acceptable, but stuffed toys aren’t?”
Garrett throws back his head and laughs. “You still trying to keep Old Sam in groceries, sport?”
My face grows hot. I was hoping Shawn wouldn’t figure out why I insisted on riding. “I like riding the horses. There aren’t as many kids around as there used to be.” That slipped out, but it’s true. Families left town in droves after the distribution center closed.
“You know,” Shawn says softly. “That’s partly why I’m here. To bring the kids back.”
Something about that simple statement brings tears to my eyes. I blink them away and look up in time to see Garrett frown. He’s yet to say how he feels about the name change. But even if he’s on my side, I don’t want to discuss it tonight.
“Shawn, I’m not signing the petition. So don’t waste your courtroom drama on me.” I soften my bluntness with a smile. “No shoptalk, okay?”
“Sure.” He claps his hand on Garrett’s shoulder. “Let’s all go see what they’ve got to eat around here. Have you seen this girl’s appetite? Where does she put it anyway?”
“In her feet,” Garrett says.
“In my feet,” I say at the same exact time and we laugh.
Shawn grimaces. “Old joke, huh?”
I nod and hold up my size eight tennis shoe clad foot. “My feet have been this size since I was twelve. They always teased me that the second helping of everything went straight to my feet.”
Shawn puts his hand at the small of my back and I look up at him. Awfully friendly for someone who knows we’re going to be doing battle tomorrow. He smiles at me. “We’d better check out the food, then, before you have to buy smaller shoes.”
Garrett scuffs his tennis shoe against the sidewalk. “I’m still stuffed from the reception buffet. Think I’m going to call it a night.”
“You sure?” Did I let him down tonight? His green eyes are dark, still impossible to read.
“Positive. I’ve got so much work to do, I’ll be up most of the night.” We say goodnight and he walks off into the darkness.
“What does he do?” Shawn asks as we head toward the Santa Snack Shop cart.
“Garrett? Computer consultation and website design.” I shrug. “And who knows what else? If it can be done on a computer, he does it. Sets up websites. Paid his way through college out in California buying and reselling on eBay, I think. He does my website for the store to try to help me pull in mail orders. You should check it out sometime.”
“You love your store, don’t you?” He takes my hand in his as we walk.
It feels nice. I don’t want to pull away. “It’s like a member of the family.”
“As is this odd little town?”
I chuckle. “It does sound weird, I guess.”
“I just bet your family reunions are crowded.”
I toss him a grin. “But fun.”
We grab a couple of corndogs and settle down on a couple of hay bales by the live Nativity scene to eat.
A cow, close to us, unconcernedly chews her cud and gives us a wide-eyed stare.
“Who would have thought the Savior of the world would come from such humble beginnings?” Shawn says after a while.
I glance over at him, surprised. “Sometimes the simple things are the most powerful.”
“Do y’all have this all year long?” Shawn asks suddenly. “That shed looks permanent.”
I nod. “We have several festivals a year and the live nativity is at each festival. We celebrate Christ’s birth every day in Jingle Bells. Does that strike you as sacrilegious?”
“Not at all. That’s how I’ve always done it myself. Only without the manger.”
We sit in silence for a while then I push to my feet. “Shawn, I’d better go.” He takes our corndog sticks and drops them in the trashcan while I zip my coat and slip on my stocking cap.
“I’ll walk you home.” He fastens his coat.
“You don’t have to.”
He reaches for my hand and pulls me toward the sidewalk. “I want to.”
We walk hand in hand across the town square lawn. Jingle Bells Avenue is almost deserted but Shawn leads me to a crosswalk.
“Afraid I might jaywalk and get us in trouble?” I tease.
“Since I know about your parking ticket record, I’m taking n
o chances.” As we reach the front door of my shop, he stops and pulls on my hand bringing me closer to him. He grins and his dimple deepens. “I had a great time tonight.”
I gaze up into his deep blue eyes. “Me, too.”
If I stand here long enough, he’s going to kiss me. Besides the fact that handholding pushed my boundaries for someone I’ve only known a little while, I’m also going to fight this man’s agenda with everything I have over the next few months. I pull my hand free of his and fumble in my purse for my key. “Thanks for a great time.” I quickly unlock the door.
His brows knit together. “Too bad tomorrow has to come so soon.”
No need to pretend I don’t know what he’s referring to. “May the best man. . .or woman. . .win.” I salute him as I slide into the shop and shut the door.
Up in my apartment, the moon shines in the French doors. I throw my fleece blanket around me and step onto the balcony, just as Shawn reaches the other side of the crosswalk. I watch him turn toward the church building to get his car and realize I didn’t mention the basket and the note. I smile in the dim light. Maybe I’ll just let the supposed mystery remain a while.
The muted noises of people shutting down their festival booths drift up to me with the cold air. I shiver and pull the blanket tight around my shoulders. “G’night, Jingle Bells. Sleep well, old friend.”
Chapter Eight
Only good thing about a slow day in the store is it gives me time to be an artist. I push back and examine the painting with a critical eye. I’ve tried to infuse the house I grew up in with a warm glow, but Thomas Kincaid, I’m not. I do manage to sell several paintings, though, and frankly, that’s all that keeps the store going. Well, that and the Christmas ornaments and sculptures I sell on the webpage Garrett helped me set up.
My grandmother, Sally Harrington, shared her love of art with me. But beyond that, she gave me a loving place to stay while Mother and Dad were busy bringing justice to the world. And when I was old enough to read, she presented me with my first Bible. She tried to live Christ in every situation and encouraged me to do the same. I fall so short, but her memory inspires me to keep trying.
When she went home, as she called it, she left me Forever Christmas and the delightful, if drafty, apartment above it. I didn’t hesitate to move permanently to the place that had always felt like home to me. And unless my parents manage to hatch and implement some diabolical plan to force me back into to law school, I’m not planning on going anywhere.
Growing up, I celebrated most of my holidays, weekends, and summers in Jingle Bells. But my parents only came to stay here once a year. Every December about this time, they’d close their Little Rock law office. We’d make the forty-five mile trek from our Sherwood manor to Gran’s front door. For one week out of each year, she’d manage to turn my dysfunctional family into something akin to the Waltons.
I glance over at the calendar. If things were normal, my parents would be arriving today. But Dad called today to reiterate that they’re just coming for Christmas Eve and Christmas this year. According to him, they look forward to seeing me then. Right. That’s why they cut our normal weeklong visit down to two days. Because they are so looking forward to seeing me.
Still, like a slow day at the shop allows me to paint, Mother and Dad’s absence will allow me to relax and enjoy my first Christmas in residence. And mourn my first Christmas without Gran.
The phone rings and I jump. Sad when the shop is so quiet that a phone startles me. I pick up the cordless and push TALK. “Hello.”
“Hey, stranger.”
“Ami! How’s married life?” I stand up and stretch my back.
She giggles and I can imagine the mischief dancing in her eyes. “Even better than I thought it would be. I’m happy.”
“You sound it. I’m glad.” And I am. Jealous? Probably. But glad that she’s so happy.
“You okay?”
“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Dunno. Are you painting?”
I look over at the easel. “How can you tell?”
“Your voice is different when you paint. Thoughtful. Kind of melancholy. Besides Tuesdays are Sarah’s day to be closed and you usually paint when you’re alone.”
“Yeah, well, I’m trying to get Mother and Dad’s Christmas present finished.”
She takes a deep breath. “Has the war started yet?”
I chuckle. “I’ve made some notes, but I’m waiting for my cohort to get home from her honeymoon to help me figure out a strategy. Have you been thinking about it?”
I hear Mark murmur something behind her. She giggles again. “Um, not really. But I will.”
I smile. “You’re hopeless.”
“I know.”
“How was the cruise?”
“Wonderful, but every time anyone sneezed, I cringed.”
“Let me guess. Geraldine gave you her lecture about how the flu can run rampant on ‘those big boats?’”
“Yep. I won’t even tell you what she said about the food on the islands. Mark has to force me to eat every time we go out.”
We talk for a few more minutes about their tropical paradise, and she hangs up with a promise to call Christmas Day. Before I get back to my painting, Susie from Mistletoe Music phones to let me know that Birdie Montrose is in town.
I run to the back and snag my “Birdie” box. For the next ten minutes, I swap the valuable items on my low tables for cheap ones. Just as I finish and stash the box in my workshop, the door chime rings.
Since Sarah’s not in today, I take off my paint smock and hurry to the front of the store to greet my somewhat kleptomaniac friend.
Instead, the teenage delivery boy once again stands inside the door, clutching a huge straw bag. He hands it to me, wordlessly, then slips out the door.
“Thanks. I think.” I hold up the beach bag. My name has been woven into the front. In red. My favorite color. A small envelope dangles from the handle. I sit down at the counter and peek inside my latest gift. A snorkel mask, also red, lies on top. I pull it out and beneath it is an exquisite mother of pearl jewelry box. My hand trembles as I open the box. I smile at my silliness, but the smile freezes on my lips as the notes of “Love Me Tender” fill the room. I’ve loved that song for as long as I can remember.
Curiosity won’t let me not explore every nook and cranny of the intricately designed box. The last drawer I open holds a perfect pair of pearl and diamond earrings. I’m no jeweler but they look real to me. Summer Valley obviously has an expense account. But are they courting me because they see me as their primary opposition? I remember my hand in Shawn’s the night of the wedding. Or is it more personal? Or both?
I open the envelope. The words swim on the page as tears blur my vision. Kristianna, Praying for you to have a Jingle Bells’ Christmas filled with love, happiness, and especially peace. Relax. The battle can wait.
Talk about conflicted. I run my fingertip across the smooth finish of the jewelry box. On the one hand, I’m incredibly touched. If Shawn’s words are as sincere as they sound, it means he realizes how hard this Christmas will be on me with Gran gone and the future of Jingle Bells at risk. Which brings me to the other hand. Am I being lulled into relaxing while he’s out racking up the signatures on his petition? Is this an elaborately staged ploy to bring me over to the dark side?
Another good thing about slow daysplenty of time to pray. I rest my head on my hands and let the tears flow down my cheeks unchecked.
I can’t do this alone, Lord. Gran’s gone. For now, Ami’s gone. Things are weird with Garrett. I can’t forget the hateful things Mother said, and I can’t just act like it never happened. Probably thanks to that, both my parents are avoiding me. I don’t want to lose Jingle Bells, too. Please give me strength, courage, and wisdom. The words of the beach bag note flit through my mind. Oh, and peace would be so nice.
This time when the bell rings, it is Birdie. I quickly shove the basket under the counter and go to hug her.
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“Kristianna, you get prettier every time I see you.”
“Right back at ya, Miss Birdie.” I know my nose has to still be bright red from crying, so in addition to her issue with sticking things in her bag, she must be going blind. When I first discovered her problem, I looked up kleptomania. And I don’t think she truly has it. As a matter of fact, I’m convinced that Birdie’s “picking things up” without paying has more to do with forgetfulness than larceny. The other shopkeepers share my theory, but none of us want to find out what Sergeant Montrose would think.
“Are you almost ready for Christmas?”
She eyes the table nearest the door. “I think so. Just a few more things on my list.” She digs in her bag. “If I could find the list.” She digs deeper. “Where do all these things come from?”
I think I have a pretty good idea. But I’m able to stay close to her, which always works best, until my phone rings. Awfully busy for a slow day. I give Birdie a nod and step a few feet away to answer. Keeping her within visual range, of course. “Forever Christmas.”
“Hello, sweetie. That man just left the flower shop.” Mrs. Stewart’s voice crackles like there’s a bad reception, but I know there’s not. “We can’t decide what to do.”
I move to see Birdie better. So far, so good. She’s looking without touching. “What man?”
“That Shane or Shawn or something or other. The one who’s getting signatures.”
A groan comes from low in my throat. I should have known.
“He gave us a lot of good reasons to sign it. But the thought of Jingle Bells changing its name just breaks our hearts, so we asked for time to think about it.”
“Good. We don’t have to sign that, Mrs. Stewart. Jingle Bells will make it without being swallowed by Summer Valley.”
“I hope so, sweetie, but he’s sure working the street.”
Fury pours through me as I remember his sweet note about me relaxing. “Now?” Miss Birdie looks at me in alarm so I lower my voice. “On Jingle Bells Avenue?”
“He’s in Angel Hair and Nails right this second.”
“Thanks, Mrs. Stewart, I have to go.” I hang up the phone and turn to Birdie, my heart pounding. “Miss Birdie, I’m going to have to run a quick errand.” I motion toward the door. “Maybe you can drop back by after a while.” I’ll have to call Scott from my cell phone and warn him she’s heading his way.
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