by Hebby Roman
“No, it’s not like that. I’m not looking for the perfect woman. I’m looking for my woman. My perfect fit.”
The car door swung open. He held his breath as her legs swung out and her boots hit the ground.
Faith clucked her tongue again. “I don’t know if it works that way.”
He watched her step out of the car. Average height. Hard to judge by the bulky coat she wore but she looked slender. The hair escaping from under the wool cap was light.
“Yes, it does. That’s exactly how it’s supposed to work,” he said, in a distracted voice. He didn’t know what it was, but if he believed in reincarnation, he’d swear they shared a past life together.
“Well, maybe in your world, but the rest of us live in a place based in reality. That reminds me. Have you had a chance to think over that other matter?”
The woman shut the car door and opened the back seat. She pulled out a large cardboard box brimming with gift-wrapped boxes.
His throat tightened and his vision blurred with tears as the wind stung his eyes all of a sudden. “What? Oh, you mean….”
With both arms full now, she used her hip to shut the car door. The slamming sound carried across the street on the brittle, cold air. The jolt to her body caused her to totter, and the top layer of presents hit the street. He followed the progress of one present scuttling across a frozen puddle.
In his mind, he leaped to her aid, but in actuality, Leland froze, his heart racing. She gathered the fallen gifts with some difficulty. When she stood up straight again, she fixed her eyes on him. Then, arms still around the box, she crooked her elbow and lifted one fuzzy, pink mittened hand high in the air.
“Leland?” Faith asked in a soft voice. “I asked if you’ve had a chance to think over what we talked about the other day?”
He knit his brows, trying to make out what the woman was doing. “I have, and I still think this is a premature discussion. You’re overreacting.”
He opened his eyes wide in disbelief. He wasn’t sure because of the mitten, but it looked like he’d just been given the finger.
Chapter Two
A bison lifted his massive, fur encrusted head. He didn’t acknowledge the car driving past the usually golden grasslands, now buried under a blanket of white.
Melody Evans smiled. “Looking like a picture postcard, buddy.” She never got tired of the sight of the wildlife in her home state. The bison, bighorn sheep, antelopes, and deer. Well, one could get tired of the deer—especially trying to avoid hitting them at night.
The plains stretched out flat either side of her, ringed by the Black Hills in the distance. Despite the cold, the clear sky was big and blue. So beautiful. Could the day get any better? Her favorite Christmas carol came on the radio. It can!
She turned up the volume and sang along. Melody loved Christmas music on the radio—not too early, thank you very much—but at an appropriate time after Thanksgiving to get her in the mood.
Some people liked to decorate their houses early, but not Melody. She savored the period between December 1 and 25 by doing something every day: decorating her house, baking cookies, making homemade gifts for her friends, putting on holiday music, and scouring the shops for those perfect presents. This year was going to be a knitwear Christmas. She glanced at the fuzzy, pink mittens on the passenger seat. They turned out so well, she’d made several pairs with matching hats to give away.
She mentally made a list of people she wanted to give gifts to.
Oddly, as she thought of the editor of the bridal magazine she sometimes wrote for, her phone rang and the very same lady’s name came up on the screen.
She turned down the radio. “Hey, Patsy, I was just thinking about you! Wait a second. I got to put you on speakerphone.” She fiddled with the buttons. “Are you there? I’m in the car.”
“Where are you going? Somewhere fun, I hope.”
“Guess that depends on your idea of fun. I’m on my way to the Women’s Club.”
“Ah, networking, huh?”
“No, I really like being there. I’m actually dropping off presents for needy families. How are things in New York City?” She’d been wondering if she should send Patsy a little Christmas gift. They’d gotten friendly, but she wasn’t sure if they were that friendly yet, and she didn’t want to put Patsy in an awkward situation if she didn’t get anything for her. Gifts should spread joy, not cause pangs of guilt.
“Freezing cold but no snow yet. Hey, I’m just wrapping up end of year stuff and wanted to double check with everyone. I have you down in March for ranch wedding venues, right?”
Melody rode over a ridge and the town came into view. “That’s right. People keep coming up with new ways to throw away their money. The further they throw it the better, it would seem, with all the destination weddings.”
A smattering of hotels on the outskirts of town flew by. With so many popular attractions like Mount Rushmore and the Badlands nearby, tourism was a big industry adding volume to their little town certain times of the year—like putting mousse in your hair to pump it up before a big event, such as a wedding.
“Well, thankfully weddings are big business, or we’d be out of work.”
She entered the town proper. Amid the galleries and t-shirt stores catering to tourists, you could pick out the real bones of the community like the daycare center and the grocery store. The main streets all decorated for Christmas with holiday lights and pine boughs came into view.
Melody scanned the streets for a parking spot. “I know. I’ve got almost more than I can handle on the consulting side of things. I want to shake those fools by the ears and tell them to save their money for something important like a down payment on a house or college tuition for any kids they might have—should they last long enough to procreate. I’m already seeing the first crop of divorces among the couples I’ve worked with.”
“The cynical wedding consultant.”
“I never wanted to be a wedding consultant, you know. I did it once for a friend and suddenly a career is born. I’d prefer to write but I don’t make enough as a freelancer. Honestly, the more I see of these big productions, the more I think we should ditch the wedding vows altogether.
“As it is now, the financial challenges put too much stress on young families. Have renewable contracts instead. I’m not sure we’re meant to be monogamous given the longer lifespan. I think rather than spend all that money on a wedding, use it to for something practical. Something to build on. And then every few years say ‘is it still working?’ and if not re-evaluate the situation. Move on if need be.”
“Not a big believer in the Happily Ever After?”
“I’m a firm believer in the Happy Enough for Now—until your bad table manners get on my last nerve or somebody better comes along.” Her sights lit on a cowboy standing on the left side of the street. Cowboy of the tall, lanky variety. Their eyes locked, but then an empty parking spot on the right side stole her attention.
Melody stopped the car and looked back over her shoulder as she backed into the open spot between two cars. The guy across the street watched her every move. Probably hoping I’ll scrape the car next to me and prove his point about women drivers.
“On a happier note...You say the ranch venues are popular?”
“Oh, you bet. Everybody wants to be a cowboy or cowgirl for a night. Except the actual cowboys who probably can’t afford the weddings I arrange. And ranching isn’t the industry it once was. Many of the ranches need to diversify to survive. Become guest ranches, offer big game hunting, go into llamas—that sort of thing.”
“Are there still cowboys?”
Melody threw back her head and laughed. “Are there!” She looked back at the guy across the street, leaning against a wall under the awning of the boardwalk. Soft grey Stetson hat, sherpa-lined suede coat, and jeans ending in cowboy boots all completed the look. He was a study in earth tones except for a beaded hat band with flashes of turquo
ise. “I’m looking at one right now. Cowboy from head to toe. He’s holding up the wall of the post office. Or maybe he’s posing for the tourists. Tourism being the other big business around here.”
“We all adapt to changing times.”
“Isn’t that the truth? Now, there’s something I believe in. Go with the times or go broke. I see a lot of that around here. I might even write an article about it. How we all sell a bit of our souls to maintain in a changing economy.”
Patsy’s laughter rang in her ears. “Not for us at the bridal magazine, I’m afraid...oh, before I forget, I met a guy from South Dakota who says he knows you. Small world, huh?”
“I’ll say. How often do you meet someone from South Dakota? You have to actually live here to come across one. What’s his name?”
“Ted Woodson. Do you know him?”
It felt like she took a fist blow to the solar plexus. Melody blinked her eyes and took in a sharp breath. “Yes. How did you meet him?”
“His wife is a friend of my sister. I met him at a party.”
The pain in her chest shot hot waves of alarm over her body. “Oh...I hadn’t heard he got married. I wonder when that happened?”
“I don’t know them that well, but their oldest is five and they’re expecting number two.”
“Hey, Patsy, I just got to where I was going. I have to hang up now, but I’ll be in touch.” She heard her own voice talking but wondered where it came from when her mind had walked out of her head and shut the door behind itself.
“Oh, okay. Well, happy holidays in case I don’t talk to you before.”
“Yeah, you too.” Melody ended the call and sat for a moment, staring into space.
She did the math in her head. Ted had a five-year-old. They broke up for the final time less than seven years ago. With her stomach threatening to rise on her, Melody took in three deep, calming breaths.
It all came back to her: the three years she now thought of as “the sickness” when she’d clung to the belief she could make Ted want her as badly as she wanted him. Their on again, off again romance dragged on, and each time she went back to him, she thought the outcome would be different. In the end, she’d shamelessly put her feelings out there. She told him she loved him and wanted to get married.
His response that day still burned her ears. It’s not you. I’m not looking to settle down. Marriage and children. It’s not for me. For a man who decidedly knew he didn’t want to ever get married and have children, he’d moved pretty fast. Part of her life's narrative had been she fell in love with a man who couldn’t make that commitment. Now, she had to rethink that. Turns out it was her. He had been looking for someone else.
She jolted back to the present when she realized she wasn’t just staring into space, she’d been staring at the cowboy across the street, and he was staring back at her. He looked away before she did.
Okay. Deep breath. Let the bad feeling go. Think of something bright and cheerful. In her head, Melody replayed the last Christmas carol she’d heard on the radio. She thought of all the gifts in the backseat and imagined the joy on children’s faces when they unwrapped them.
That’s better. Her lips relaxed upward into a smile again. She pushed the release button on her seatbelt. Nothing. She pushed it again. Oh, not this again!
Her chest rose and fell in agitation. This wasn’t the first time her seatbelt jammed. The cold weather brought out the worst in the old car. To make matters worse, she felt the cowboy’s eyes on her, and there was no dignified way out of this situation. Either wriggle upward or wriggle downward.
Melody chose the downward course of action. Luckily, she was able to loosen the portion of the belt around her waist to the extent she’d be able to slither under it. She slid down in the seat and winced when her knees hit the underside of the dashboard. Through a series of wiggles and contortions she managed to free herself. Her cap got knocked off in the process.
When she righted herself, that cowboy was still watching the show. She pulled her cap back into place while silently cursing him. Talking on the phone too. Probably telling his buddy about the crazy lady stuck in her car.
She grabbed her fuzzy, pink mittens from the seat next to her and jammed them on. Then aware she still had an audience, she mustered her dignity and got out of the car. Without looking, she knew he had his sights trained on her. The alley leading to the back entry of the building she was headed to was only steps away. She opened the back door of the car and grabbed the box of presents. She’d just duck down the alley, out of sight….
When she closed the door with her hip the impact sent presents flying. Now her cheeks flamed with shame and rage. One gift skidded across a patch of ice, heading under the car. In a quick move she was able to halt it with one foot before it slipped out of view. With great difficulty, she gathered the errant presents back into the box, all the while conscious of his scrutiny.
She stood up straight, box in arms, to meet his gaze. All the humiliation and frustration that had been welling up in her since hanging up the phone, spilled out. Her hand slid up the side of the box almost of its own accord, middle finger up. There followed a brief moment of satisfaction at the look on his face...and then she looked down her arm to her hand.
This particular gesture did lose some of its power when wearing mittens.
Chapter Three
Outside, the glacial air had a clean metallic smell, aggressive on the senses. But when she stepped in the side door of the church, gentle, warm air wrapped around her in an instant. The vestibule held the mingled scents of cinnamon, perfume, furniture wax, and wet wool.
Melody, box in arms, leaned against the wall and closed her eyes. I can’t believe I just flipped off a total stranger! I must be losing my mind.
The vestibule was dim but at the top of the stairs, a rectangle of light framed the brightly lit community room. She moved toward the stairs and followed the sounds of voices floating down from the hall above. The carpet runner going up the well-worn, creaky steps muffled her footsteps. Maneuvering herself and the box through the door in an awkward sideways move, she smashed her knuckles painfully against the door jamb.
When she stepped inside, she was met by a hive of activity and sounds. Trays of freshly baked Christmas cookies appeared in the hands of helpers heading out of the kitchen, ready to join the other baked goods in the center of the room. Long tables lined the walls, covered in festive red and green cloths and dotted with potted poinsettias. Handmade ornaments, knitwear, dish towels edged in crochet, quilted potholders, and other crafts for sale were arranged on the long tables.
It was mainly women, covering a large age range, moving about the room getting ready for the annual holiday bazaar this evening. A couple of men were setting up folding chairs.
Melody said her hellos and made her way toward a lady in a quilted coat with her long silver hair wound up on her head. “Hello, Miss Alma!”
The woman spun around with her eyes crinkled in delight and a warm smile fixed on her face in a ready greeting. For a brief moment confusion flit across her face. Then recognition. “Melody! I worried I’d missed you today.”
“Are you leaving already?”
“Yes, my ride is waiting for me, I’m afraid.”
“Car still at the shop?”
“Yes.”
“That sure is taking a long time.”
“It’s a nuisance…” She looked down at the box Melody held. “But what have you here? Someone’s been busy.”
“I know it looks like a lot, but it’s not all my doing. I handed out some of the requests to friends who wanted to help. We got everything on the list. I couldn’t resist adding some toys and books. I understand the families need winter coats and such for their kids, but what child wants only clothes for Christmas?”
“That’s thoughtful of you, dear.”
“I put a small ‘B’ for boy and ‘G’ for girl and the appropriate age on the back of those presents.
I thought you could use your discretion and make sure they find their way into the right hands.”
“I have some children in mind already.”
“Where should I put these?”
“Give them to…” Alma froze, a blank look on her face.
Melody followed her gaze to the man across the room. “Henry?”
“Yes. Darndest, thing. I couldn’t think of his name. A senior moment.” She laughed.
“That happens to me all the time. Nothing senior about it.”
“Anyway, give them to Henry, and he’ll lock them up with the rest. Then on Christmas Eve morning I’ve got my elves lined up to make secret drop offs. Say, are you coming back tonight for the bazaar?”
Melody frowned. “No, I’m not. I have other plans tonight. It looks like there’s a lot of fun stuff, though.”
Alma nodded and picked an item off the table near her. “These are clever. All the ingredients you need for cookies in one Mason jar. It’s a cute idea, but I can’t think of who I’d give it to.”
“Buy it for yourself!”
“Oh, I’m tempted. When my kids were little, I’d make dozens of Christmas cookies. We had so much fun bringing out my mother and grandmother’s cookie cutters and decorating cookies. And the house always smelled so good!”
“I know what you mean. My mother and I had special cookies we’d make every Christmas. It was like seeing old friends again to dig out the holiday cookie cutters. Then before bed, we’d fix hot cocoa and sit by the fire with a plate of treats and she’d read to me.”
Alma sighed and shook her head. “I miss those days. It’s not quite the same without children in the house.”
“But you have grandkids.”
She laughed. “Sure, but they’re not allowed too many sweets. Apparently I don’t know how to feed children properly to hear my daughter tell it.”
“Bake cookies for yourself then.”
“Too much work for one person.” She tapped her on the arm. “Anyway, I have to run, but thank you again for helping out.”
