A Coldwater Warm Hearts Christmas

by Lexi Eddings

  Well, that puts the kibosh on a good night kiss. If a woman wanted one, she’d wait until she reached her doorway to start looking for her keys.

  But once Angie stopped in front of her door, she didn’t immediately stick the key in the lock. Instead, it dangled from her hand as she turned back to face him.

  Talk about mixed signals.

  “Do you think they’ll be happy?”

  “Who?” Just in case he wasn’t confused enough about whether or not she wanted him to kiss her, she had to come up with a completely unrelated question.

  “Rose and Charlie, of course,” she said in an exasperated tone, as if he hadn’t been paying attention.

  Yeah, sure. I ought to be able to follow her train of thought even though we stopped talking about the movie about a block and a half ago.

  “Why do you ask?” It was his way of stalling until he could come up with a mildly intelligent-sounding response.

  “Well, they lived through some harrowing adventures together. Exciting, even,” she said. “But once the war is over and their lives go back to normal, do you think they’ll be happy with each other?”

  She didn’t talk about Charlie and Rose as if they were fictional characters. It was more like they were her friends. He should have guessed she’d watch movies with the same emotional investment she made in her books.

  “Well, for one thing, I don’t think Rose will be a missionary anymore.”

  Angie chuckled. “She might figure she has enough of a mission with her husband. Charlie is certainly in need of reform.”

  “I’ve heard all women think that about their husbands,” Seth said wryly. “But the thing is, neither Charlie or Rose will ever be who they were before they met.”

  Her keys jingled a bit. Was she impatient that he hadn’t tried to kiss her yet or anxious for him to leave so she could go into her apartment?

  He reached a hand up and leaned it against her door. That should let her know he wasn’t ready for her to go in. Two could play this signals game.

  “When you let someone into your life, you’re gonna change whether you plan on it or not,” he said softly. “It sort of comes with the territory.”

  “How so?”

  “My old man described it like this. He said if you put a rock in a bag by itself, no matter how much you swing the bag around, the rock will be exactly the same when you take it out,” Seth explained. “But if you put two rocks in a bag, they knock the sharp edges off each other. Leave ’em in there together long enough and they both come out all smooth.”

  “People aren’t rocks.”

  “No, but we do change each other.”

  “So you expect to change some girl you meet into your perfect woman?” She crossed her arms over her chest.

  Whoa. Message received. If that doesn’t shout “Not even a peck on the cheek, fella,” I’m a yellow-bellied sap-sucker.

  “There are no perfect women, Angie. Or men either,” he added quickly. “There’s just folks doing the best they can.”

  “Sometimes their best is pretty awful.” Her arms dropped to her sides again.

  Okay, her shields are down. I’m goin’ in. He leaned toward her, thinking only to brush his lips on her cheek. It wasn’t the kiss he’d like to give her, but it was better than nothing.

  Suddenly she thrust her hand out in the “shake-me” position. “Good night, Seth.”

  So no kiss. Oh! Wait a minute.

  His time spent in the company of Jane Austen was about to bear fruit. He took Angie’s hand and slowly lifted it to his lips. Her hand trembled slightly, but she didn’t pull it away when he pressed a soft kiss on her knuckles. He’d closed his eyes, but he still heard the sharp intake of breath hissing over her teeth.

  When he let her hand drop and opened his eyes, she was staring up at him, her lips parted in what looked like astonishment.

  Astonished is good. Beat that, Peter Manning.

  Then, because he could only mess things up from there, he turned and headed down the iron staircase. He kept one ear cocked, listening for her door, but he never heard her open and close it. He stopped at the base of the stairs and looked back up.

  She was peering over the railing, watching him go.

  Better and better.

  “Good night, Angela.”

  Caught looking, she quickly zipped away from the rail and back to her door. She made short work of the lock, but he didn’t move until he heard the door bang shut behind her.

  More pleased with himself than he’d been in a long time, Seth hopped in his truck and started it up. Before he put it into gear, he glanced over at the dog-eared copy of Sense and Sensibility.

  “Thanks, Miss Austen,” he said as he pulled out of the small parking area. “Don’t tell anybody, but I think you’re my new best friend.”

  Chapter 12

  Much is made about the terror of auditioning for a part.

  Let me tell you, watching an audition is no picnic either.

  —Angela Holloway, currently starring

  in The Reluctant Codirectors

  “Thank you, Zorabeth, that’ll do.” Angie was about ready to get out a shepherd’s crook and yank the current auditionee off the small stage at the far end of the gym. Anything to make it stop. How on earth could Angie be expected to work someone who played the accordion while tap dancing into a Christmas pageant? “Really, that’s all we need for now. We’ll let you know as soon as we’ve settled on a cast list.”

  “Thank you, ma’am.” Zorabeth’s accordion wheezed a bit as she dropped in a quick curtsey. Her taps clicked on the gym floor as she headed for the door.

  “You know sometimes she sings while she tap dances, too,” Seth said once Zorabeth was out of earshot.

  “You’re kidding. While still playing the accordion?”

  He nodded and held up three fingers. “Scout’s honor. Remember where you are.”

  Seth was right. Things that might be considered bizarre elsewhere were perfectly ordinary in Coldwater Cove. Zorabeth Klinkensmith was a much sought-after entertainer for the retirement party crowd.

  But her act didn’t much fit in with angels and shepherds and wise men. Angie was frustrated that they hadn’t been able to cast a number of important parts yet. Seth was evidently frustrated, too. His left knee was bouncing up and down.

  “Stop fidgeting, Seth,” Angie whispered. “You’ll make the actors nervous.”

  His knee stopped and he leaned forward, resting his elbows on them. Granted, the bleachers weren’t the most comfortable of seats, but it was his idea to use the high school gym for the pageant auditions. He reasoned if an actor could be heard in the gym, they stood a better chance of being heard delivering lines in an open-air pageant, so Angie went along with the plan. If he was uncomfortable listening to the wannabes try to fill the space, it was his own fault.

  It had been several days since she’d gone to the movies with him. She’d expected to feel awkward around him after that unexpectedly romantic kiss he’d planted on her hand, but Seth didn’t behave any differently toward her. Angie decided to follow suit.

  If it didn’t mean anything to him, why should it mean anything to me?

  “Why should they be nervous?” Seth shifted again, leaning back on the bleachers and stretching his arms. “It seems like we’ve been at this for hours. Oh wait, we have.” He sat up straight and then leaned toward her. “Do we have to make such a production out of each audition? Look, Second Shepherd isn’t exactly Oscar material.”

  “Shh!” Even though she shushed him, she had to agree. So far the parade of pageant hopefuls had yielded no budding stars. “We have to give everyone who’s come out to audition a fair hearing.”

  Angie had been surprised by the long line of potential actors that snaked down the corridor leading to the gym. From grade school kids dragged in by their stage moms to old Mrs. Chisholm, who was wheelchair bound and had to be pushed in by her long-suffering niece and caregiver Peggy, there was a steady stream of folk
s who wanted to be part of the pageant.

  Next up was Junior Bugtussle. His overalls were obviously new, the denim so dark Angie would bet they’d not been washed even once. He bore a striking resemblance to an onion with his hair slicked down tight against his skull. She suspected Junior’s wife Darlene was responsible for that unfortunate fashion choice. Hill folk had their own ideas about what constituted looking nice.

  “What part are you auditioning for today, Junior?” Angie asked.

  “I thought I could maybe be one of them wise fellers,” he answered. “It’d make a nice change from just spreading hay around on the courthouse steps.”

  Angela cringed at the thought of Junior as one of the magi. In her mind’s eye, she imagined them as well educated and spiritual, with a regal and dignified demeanor. Junior’s mannerisms were more regrettable than regal, and he was more likely to dig a hole than act dignified. But Angie was determined to give him a chance.

  “We don’t have the final script yet,” Angie told him. Actually, they didn’t have any script at all. Crystal Addleberry at the college couldn’t see her until later that afternoon, and she refused to use the stilted, hackneyed script that came in the pageant book.

  Seth hauled himself off the bleachers and handed Junior the page of material they were having the men read.

  “Just the passage highlighted in yellow,” Angie said. “And speak up, please. We want to find out how well your voice carries.”

  “Okey-dokey.” Junior screwed his face into a furious frown as he stared at the page. Finally, he began shouting the lines as if he were in a pig-calling contest. “ ‘And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.’ ” His voice dropped to a normal tone. “Well, don’t that beat all. Even Bible folk had to put up with them durn revenuers.”

  Seth chuckled and whispered to Angie, “Junior would know about that. His daddy’s still doing a stretch at the state pen for trying to avoid taxes on the proceeds of his still.”

  “No commentary please.” She skewered Seth with a glare. “From either of you. Go on, Junior.”

  “And you might want to dial it back a bit, buddy,” Seth suggested. “We don’t need you to be heard in the next county.”

  “All righty, then. ‘And this taxing was first made when Cyrenius was governor of Syria.’ ” Junior pronounced the governor’s name as if it rhymed with Miley Cyrus.

  Angie decided not to correct him. It wouldn’t help a bit.

  “ ‘And all went to be taxed, every one into his own city. And Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judaea, unto the city of David, which is called Bethlehem; because he was of the house and lineage of David’—mercy! That there’s a powerful long sentence. I plumb ran out of breath and it ain’t even over yet.” He took another deep breath and continued. “ ‘To be taxed with Mary his exposed wife, bein’ great with child.’ ”

  “Espoused,” Angie corrected. She couldn’t let that slide. “Exposed makes it sound like . . .”

  “Like the Virgin Mary forgot her clothes,” Seth finished for her.

  Junior went so red he resembled a tomato instead of an onion. “Oh! I’m sure she’d never do that.” He scratched his head, messing up his carefully gelled do. “Then what’s it mean, that ‘espoused’ thing?”

  Angie may not have been in Sunday School for years, but she had been doing her homework on the Christmas story. “There’s some confusion about that, but basically it means when couples in biblical times got engaged, it was considered as binding as marriage.”

  “So Mary and Joseph weren’t actually hitched when they fetched up in Bethlehem?”

  “Not married as we consider it now,” Angie said, “but as far as their culture was concerned, they were. That’s why in another passage, it says Joseph intended to divorce her when he discovered she was expecting and knew the child wasn’t his.”

  “Look at you, going all Bible scholar,” Seth said.

  She rolled her eyes at him. “We want the pageant to be historically accurate, don’t we?”

  “Well, yeah, but you may have to gloss over a bit. If you don’t, you’ll have to wait a couple of years for the wise men to show up at Bethlehem. That’d make for a pretty long pageant,” Seth said. “You can let a few details slide as long as you get the meat of the story out there.”

  “But details are what make a story,” Angie argued. There was a way to show the passage of time without actually waiting two years. “What do you think, Junior?”

  “Me?” He put a hand to his chest. “I don’t know nothing about that stuff. I’m still trying to get my head around the idea of Jesus’s folks gettin’ a divorce. We Bugtussles don’t hold to that. Once we ties the knot, it stays tied. Even if it strangulates us.”

  “Well, Mary and Joseph didn’t divorce, so you don’t have to fret over it. That’s all, Junior. Thanks for auditioning. We’ll post the cast list in the Coldwater Gazette soon,” she said. “Can you please send in the next person?”

  Junior ambled out of the gym.

  “Actually, Seth, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about how we should do the magi part.” She consulted her notebook and then glanced at him. He hadn’t shaved that morning and a fine stubble of dark beard peppered his strong jaw. It suited him. She looked quickly back at her notes. “Of course, we can’t put a huge time lag into the pageant, but if we want to be accurate, we have to move the Holy Family out of the stable. By the time the wise men arrived in Bethlehem, Mary and Joseph were living in a house.”

  “So you want me to build a house on the courthouse lawn, too?”

  “Not a whole house,” she said. “A façade of one will do.”

  “I think you’re going overboard here.”

  “Like you did the other night.” The words were out of her mouth before she thought about the consequences of saying them. They’d been ignoring the fact that they’d shared an unexpectedly romantic moment. Now it was on the table.

  One of his brows arched in question. He was going to make her say it.

  “You kissed me. Remember?” Sometimes her knuckles still tingled.

  “If I’d kissed you, I’d remember it,” he said, his drawl as thick as dark molasses. “Seems to me I only kissed your hand.”

  She covered the hand in question with her other one. Could he tell it still made her quiver to think about it? “Well, it wasn’t appropriate. We’re just codirectors. Maybe friends. That’s all.”

  “You didn’t object at the time.”

  “That’s because you . . . you surprised me.” Why did his eyes have to be so . . . so looking at her as if he could see her secret thoughts?

  “As I recall, it all pretty much happened in slow motion,” Seth said. “It’s hard to surprise someone when you’re moving as fast as a three-toed sloth.”

  Well, that image sucked the romance right out of the memory. “Still, I wasn’t expecting it.”

  “Expectations are overrated.”

  That smile of his, that crooked, easy smile. It was a small change in his expression, but it was ridiculously attractive. She wanted to slap it right off him.

  “You need to learn to take life as it comes, Angela.”

  “Or goes,” she said tartly. Peter would have called her “Ange.” He was the only one who ever had. Yet somehow, when Seth said her whole name, it felt more intimate than Peter’s shortened pet name for her.

  “Speaking of going, I’m guessing Peter Mandrake is gone by now.”

  “Manning. The guy’s name is Manning. You know that’s his name. Why don’t you use it?”

  His grin stretched wide this time. “Maybe because I like seeing those little wisps of steam that come out your ears when I don’t. You’re ducking my question. Is he gone?”

  “I don’t know.” She shrugged. It did seem a little strange that Peter hadn’t contacted her again, other than sending those strawberries. He usually wasn’t the sort to give up, even afte
r he got shot down. Not that that happened very often. Still, it was a puzzlement. She could have sworn he wanted to see her again before he left town. “I haven’t heard from him since we had dinner together.”

  “He doesn’t mean you any good, you know.”

  She did know, but how could Seth? “You don’t know that.”

  “Sure I do.”

  “How?”

  “The spider was a dead giveaway.” Seth stretched his long legs out in front of him and hooked one ankle over the other. Instead of his steel-toed work shoes, he was wearing snakeskin cowboy boots today.

  Angie was enough a daughter of Texas to find a guy in cowboy boots incredibly hot. She looked away.

  “That spider wasn’t Peter’s fault,” she argued.

  “I bet nothing ever was.”

  Peter did have a knack for wiggling out of responsibility for things, whether it was a frat prank that went wrong or the way he broke her heart. It was never his fault.

  “Trust me, Angie. A guy knows these things,” Seth said. “Your Mr. Mango is up to no good.”

  She decided to stop correcting him and hope he’d get tired of this game. “Peter would probably say the same about you.”

  Seth nodded. “Yeah, but he’d be wrong. I mean you only the best.” He rested the tips of his fingers on her forearm. Surprisingly enough, she didn’t feel the need to shrink from his touch. “You deserve it.”

  Before she could tell him she didn’t, the next person trying out for the pageant came into the gym.

  It was Emma Wilson. The flirty skirt was gone. Today, she was wearing faded jeans and a T-shirt that had probably started life as red, but now was tending toward dusty pink. She was wearing less makeup than usual, too.

  Angie thought she looked better for it. More her own age, which was closer to fifteen than the twenty-five she usually aimed for.

  “Hi, Emma. I’ve missed you in class the last couple of days,” Angie said.

  “Yeah, well, I’ve been a little under the weather, but I’m feeling better today.” Emma leaned all her weight on one foot and hooked the other behind her calf, standing turkey legged. “I’ll make up the work next week, Ms. Holloway.”