Were they all staring at us? At the moment, I didn’t care one way or the other.
James’s breath tickled my ear as he softly said, “I’ll pick you up at your house at eight o’clock Christmas night, then.”
“It’s a date,” I whispered back, sliding back down to the earth. I couldn’t feel my toes any longer, but I didn’t care about that either.
James took a small step back so he could gaze into my eyes with his perfect blue ones. He cradled my head with both hands, bringing me close, while my palms reached up to touch his face. He gave me a warm, happy smile and my eyes closed as our lips brushed in a tender, comforting kiss for the first time. My stomach rose straight up my throat and I swear my heart was floating just like the neon sign over Mr. C’s burger joint.
This man—this pastor-in-training—James Douglas, was mending me, healing my heart, one moment at a time. I was exactly where I wanted to be. Exactly where I needed to be. Our lips barely brushed; just a hint of promise, but it was enough for now. It was a beginning, and it was filled with hope.
I realized that with James, I could throw off the shackles of guilt and anger that had caused me so much unhappiness and loneliness for so long. As we stared into each other’s eyes, his crystal blue ones sparked with humor and mischief, letting me know that it was safe to risk my heart once more. To discover a new life—and love—all over again.
The End
Other Books
by
Kimberley Montpetit
Paris Cravings, a Paris & Pastry Novel
Please Visit her Website:
http://www.kimberleymontpetit.com
Kimberley Montpetit also writes under Kimberley Griffiths Little
The Last Snake Runner, Random House
The Healing Spell, Scholastic Press
Circle of Secrets, Scholastic Press
When the Butterflies Came, Scholastic Press
The Time of the Fireflies, Scholastic Press
Forbidden, YA trilogy, Harpercollins Publishers
Please Visit Kimberley’s ebsite for awesome book trailers, Teacher’s Guides, and Book Club Guides:
http://www.kimberleygriffithslittle.com
~About the Author~
Kimberley Montpetit (aka Kimberley Griffiths Little) once spent all her souvenir money at the La Patisserie shops when she was in Paris—on the arm of her adorable husband. The author grew up in San Francisco, another swoon-worthy city, but currently lives in a small town along the Rio Grande with her big, messy family. Kimberley reads a book a day to fill up her heart and soul with words. Then she fills her stomach with chocolate chip cookies while she revises.
Traveling is another hunger Kimberley cannot ignore. So far, she’s stayed in the haunted tower room at Borthwick Castle in Scotland, sailed on the Seine in Paris, swam in the waters at Cannes, ridden a camel among the glorious cliffs of Petra, sunbathed on Waikiki, shopped the maze of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul, and spent the night in an old Communist hotel in Bulgaria.
Blue Christmas
Lucy McConnell
Dedication
To Janet Halling, Melissa Richardson Smith, and Emily Penrod – my rock and roll friends.
Chapter One
“NOTHING SAYS CHRISTMAS LIKE freezing your tail off while waiting for someone to turn on the lights,” said Paisley, her breath puffing in the air. She stomped her heavy boots on the already compacted snow trying to get some feeling back in her toes.
“C’mon. You know you wouldn’t have it any other way,” said her brother, Sawyer. He bent over the stroller to tuck the blanket in a little tighter around his baby girl.
Paisley smiled down at her niece, Journey, wrapped in fluffy pink from head to toe and sleeping peacefully. Her adorable little nose was the same color as her pale pink blanket. The tiny vision had no idea they were about to kick off the Christmas season with a bang – literally.
At eight o’clock on the dot, Snow Valley’s mayor would flip the switch to light up Main Street and the huge evergreen tree in the middle of town. Then Buster Write would set off his vintage WWI cannon two streets away, startling cattle all over the valley and scaring sheep dogs under front porches.
“Do you think she’ll wake up?” asked Paisley.
“Naw, if she can sleep through my drums, she can sleep through Buster’s Bang.”
“The only reason she can sleep through your drums is because music runs in her veins,” said Amber as she squeezed through the crowd. She carried a cardboard cup holder with four steaming hot chocolates in one hand and had her four-year-old son, Peake, balanced on her left hip. As always, Amber looked every bit the rock star. Her clothes, from her high-heeled boots to her thick, fuzzy scarf, were edgy with just the right amount of class. If Paisley didn’t love her sister-in-law so much, she’d have to hate her for being so beautiful.
Sawyer took his son in one arm and a hot chocolate cup in his other hand and stole a kiss from his wife that said he appreciated her look as well.
Paisley made a face and Peake laughed.
“Are we bugging you?” asked Sawyer.
“Seriously, I think you two enjoy kissing in front of people.”
“All the world’s a stage,” said Amber. She and Sawyer tapped their cups together and Paisley rolled her eyes.
Amber distributed the cocoas, reminding Peake to wait for it to cool off. He blew into the hole in the lid, making an O with his lips. Amber pressed her hand to her heart as she melted at his adorableness. She asked Sawyer, “Do you think your mom and dad will come?”
Sawyer shook his head. “Doubt it. Dad didn’t sound so good this morning.”
Paisley looked around for her parents. Her dad threw out his back yesterday when he lifted the turkey from the oven. Thanksgiving dinner wasn’t ruined, but the day was one for the scrapbook. Dad ate standing up and mom pestered him to take a muscle relaxer and lay down.
Paisley checked the time on her phone. Fifteen minutes to go. Anticipating the Christmas magic that sprang to life when the lights came on gave her the same thrill as waiting up for Santa had when she was a kid. In the winters, the sun went down long before 6:00 p.m. so the Parks and Rec. Agency set up fire barrels around the town square. Families gravitated together, then called out to friends and chatted as they waited for the official start of Snow Valley’s Christmas season.
Breathing in the fresh pine scent coming from the twenty-foot tree, Paisley tipped her head back to see the stars. Everyone in town knew everybody else and sometimes the familiarity created problems, but tonight, under a blanket of winter stars and warmed by pine-fed fires, Yuletide goodwill permeated.
Paisley checked her phone. Five minutes. If her parents were going to make it, they’d be there by now. She scanned the crowd to see if she could spot her mom’s bright blue parka – the one she’d had since Paisley was thirteen and was totally embarrassed that her mother would walk around in public in something so old-lady-ish. She did one last sweep and a movement caught her eye.
One barrel over, a guy—a cute guy—in jeans and a designer coat, waved at her. Paisley’s heart stuttered and she ducked her head, tucking her dark mahogany hair behind one ear. The man’s blatant flirtation startled her. She took two quick breaths and dismissed the idea that he waved at her. She wore a thick coat and stocking hat. No way was she on her game tonight. He must have been trying to get someone else’s attention.
She checked over her shoulder to see if anyone waved back, but the Petersons huddled close and stared at the small stage. Someone tapped the microphone and Paisley turned her attention to the front, her cheeks burning with embarrassment at being singled out.
As Mayor Carl began a well-rehearsed speech on inviting the Spirit of Christmas to Snow Valley, Paisley let her eyes drift back to the stranger. He had to be just over six feet tall with wide shoulders. Dark hair peeked out from under his stocking hat and, heaven help her, curled up in the back. A hint of dark growth on his jaw gave him rugged appeal and Paisley wished she coul
d see what color his eyes were. Please let them be brown.
As if he heard her silent plea, he turned to answer by raising one eyebrow and producing a lazy grin with “come hither” written all over it. The firelight illuminated his face with a golden glow.
Paisley jerked her attention back to the stage and sipped her cocoa to calm the butterflies in her stomach. They’re brown. Deep, dark, gorgeous brown.
Dang.
Dying to steal another look, Paisley forced herself to face forward, refusing to flirt with him. She didn’t know who he was, but she knew one thing, strangers never stayed in Snow Valley longer than it took to experience Christmas in the town that does Christmas best. After snowmobiling, a romantic ride on the Polar Express, and a few kisses in front of a roaring fire, they’d leave, taking your heart with them.
Just as her resolve slipped away, the square lit up with Christmas joy and Paisley jerked at the cannon blast. Sawyer laughed at her, making some comment about jumping like a newbie. She smacked him in the arm, thankful to have something to focus on besides the man with the gorgeous eyes ... and smile ... and oh-my-gosh those curls. Paisley stomped her boots again, this time trying to jolt his brown eyes from her memory.
As the crowd dispersed, Amber gathered their cups and took Peake to the nearest barrel to watch them burn. Someone called Sawyer’s name and both he and Paisley turned toward the voice. To Paisley’s horror, her handsome stranger headed right for them. She squatted down to check Journey’s blanket and hide the way her cheeks burned.
“No way!” Sawyer grabbed the guy in a bear hug and pounded his back. “What are you doing here, man?”
Obviously Sawyer knew this guy, which made Paisley even more embarrassed she’d thought he was flirting when he was just being neighborly. For the life of her, she could not put a name with the face. In a town this size, grouping people together as families was easy; but, this guy didn’t look like anyone she knew. Not that being a stranger was a bad thing, oh no, on him, individuality looked good. He probably thought she was a jerk for snubbing him. Well, she’d have to make up for her inhospitable behavior. Standing up, she put on her friendliest smile.
“You remember my baby sister?” Sawyer said pointing at her.
Thanks for the clue. She wracked her brain, sorting through her brother’s old friends, trying to put a name with the hot dish giving her his undivided attention. An old friend could be good—really good. Maybe he’d moved back to town after finishing school and would stay longer than Christmas. This had possibilities written all over it. Their eyes met once again and Paisley’s insides melted.
“How could I forget our biggest fan?” He nudged her shoulder.
Great, she was back to being “baby sister” material. Thanks a lot, Sawyer. She shot her brother a dirty look. So much for possibilities.
“Clay?!” Amber shrieked and flung herself into the man’s arms.
Clay. Clay? Paisley took a step back. “No way,” she said. Looking both ways to make sure no one had heard her. Paisley coughed into her mitten. She glared at Amber, wishing she didn’t feel so jealous of that hug.
“You look positively transformed. What happened to the spikes and black lipstick?” asked Amber.
Paisley wondered the same thing. The last time she’d seen Clay Jett he was a skinny seventeen-year-old with black spikes in his hair and a dog collar. The only member of her brother’s high school band to try and make a living with music, Clay headed west the day after graduation and hadn’t been seen since.
The band didn’t hold his success against him. Although, there were times when Paisley wondered if Sawyer and Amber envied Clay’s gumption. Of course, they sang whenever they got the chance, the national anthem at the 4th of July picnic, Pastor John’s Easter sermon, and no funeral was complete without Amber’s rendition of Amazing Grace. But, once they had kids, their family came first. They made parenting look like so much fun, Paisley couldn’t wait to have kids of her own. Not that she was in a hurry. All things in God’s time, as Pastor John would say.
Paisley had seen Clay’s dad in town, but never thought to ask about his son. She ran her eyes up and down Clay, taking in the changes that were aaaaaall good. Even in snow clothes he looked amazing. Who knew there was so much yum under the back eyeliner and hair dye?
Sawyer cleared his throat and warned Paisley with a look. She turned away and tried to act as though she hadn’t seen him. Sawyer had “advised” her not to date the guys in the band and Clay in particular.
The warning came during her freshman year of high school. She and Sawyer were in the basement, a fresh plate of sugar cookies on the amp and Sawyer tapping his drum sticks against his thigh. Their dad gave permission for Sawyer to use the unfinished basement for band practice as long as he watched Paisley after school. The year she turned fourteen, a whole new set of rules came into play.
“They aren’t bad guys, but they’re a lot older than you.”
“They aren’t that much older. Sheesh. I’ve been hanging around them for four years. I know them just as well as I know you.”
Well, most of them. Nobody knew Clay. He didn’t even hang out with the band at school. He just drifted through the halls in his shredded t-shirts and ripped jeans.
Clay’s choice in clothing never bothered Paisley, it was his empty eyes she stayed up late at night thinking about. The dullness went away when Clay played his guitar and she loved to see his eyes brighten – like watching the sun rise over fresh snow—the energy took her breath away.
“We’re seniors and you’re a freshman. There’s a big difference.”
Paisley walked around the room, going through her pre-practice checklist and ignoring Sawyer. She knew where the guys liked to stand and how tall Amber liked the mic. No matter what she did, the height always needed adjusting.
“Okay?” Sawyer pushed.
Paisley tightened the mic stand hoping to get it to stay in place this time. “You don’t have anything to worry about; it’s not like any of them would ask me out anyway.”
“Who wouldn’t ask you out?” asked Bill as he clomped down the stairs. Jeb, Amber, and Clay, followed right behind. Bill had to duck as his feet touched the floor to miss a low-hanging joist. Paisley smiled. When they started the Iron Stix, the guys used to reach up and brush their fingers against the beam for luck. Amber gave Sawyer a kiss hello before snagging a cookie.
Paisley plugged in Bill’s keyboard, and said, “Sawyer’s worried I’m going to go all Yoko on you guys.”
Bill winked at her. “I’d ask you out to get your cookies, but since you give them away for free ...”
Paisley’s face flushed at his obvious reference to the old saying: Why buy the cow when you can get the milk for free. She concentrated on the soundboard while Bill plunked notes to help Amber warm up her voice.
Jeb leaned into his mic. “Test. Test.” His voice echoed off the cement walls.
They talked about throwing up padding to absorb some sound, but Paisley suspected they liked the added volume. Playing in the basement was like singing in the shower.
Jeb pulled away and gave her a thumbs up. “I’d take you out, but Lizzie’s the jealous type.”
Paisley rolled her eyes. His comment was the equivalent of waiting for pigs to fly. “Yeah, like she’d give you the time of day.”
Jeb shoved a cookie in his mouth and chased it down with a swig of soda. “She’s just playing hard to get.”
“You wish.”
Jeb turned to Sawyer, clearly offended. “She’s like our little sister.”
Sawyer tapped the cymbal three times. “Can we just play?”
Paisley waited at the soundboard as Clay plugged in his bass. He hit a few cords and made an adjustment on his amp. A loud squeal echoed off the walls and everyone covered their ears. Paisley ran over and twisted a knob on the black box. The squeal was replaced by grumbling, but no one threw a dirty look at Clay. No one dared. Sawyer tapped on his snare and then twirled his sticks.
&nb
sp; Paisley gave Clay a small smile and lifted her shoulders. He leaned in and she could smell the deep scent of men’s body wash; a scent she’d recently found a new interested in. “You’re more than just cookies,” Clay said quietly, brushing his fingers up her arm.
The connection happened so fast Paisley wasn’t sure it happened at all, except that her skin tingled where he’d touched her. She made her way back to the soundboard, wondering if Clay had adjusted his amp so she’d have to come over and fix it. She watched Clay out of the corner of her eye for most of practice. He didn’t act like he’d said a word and she decided the zing was their little secret.
A secret she’d kept to this day.
Paisley absently rubbed her hand up her arm, wondering if he’d thought of her at all since he left town. Sawyer may have had the authority to warn her off the band when she was fourteen, but she wasn’t fourteen anymore. If Clay was coming home, she would gladly chair the welcoming committee.
The crowd thinned out as Clay listened to Amber and Sawyer’s engagement and wedding story, asked about Sawyer’s job as an electrician, and met their kids. Clay’s eyes wandered to Paisley now and again, but Amber and Sawyer’s excitement over seeing their long-lost band-mate was hard to ignore for long.
Peake threw a snowball at his dad. Sawyer gave him a stern look followed by a promise to play later. The kid shrugged and continued packing snow anyway. Paisley admired his perseverance.
“We sent you an invite to the wedding,” said Amber, her lower lip pouting out.
Clay shuffled his feet. “Yeah, I wasn’t making much back then.” He held up both hands as if weighing his options. “Food or bus ticket? But, I wished you guys the best. Although, I’m not sure what you did, Amber, to deserve a drummer for a husband,” he said as he shoved Sawyer. “I guess it’s just bad luck.”
Christmas in Snow Valley Page 48
