Risking It All for Love (A Christmas in Snow Valley Romance)

by Kimberley Montpetit

  Headlights lit up my rearview mirror. Someone was following me.

  Was it James Douglas? Stalking me, or making sure I got home okay?

  “Don’t be a jerk,” I told myself fiercely, wiping at my wet face with rough fingers. “He’s not a stalker.”

  When I eased into the driveway of my house and turned off the ignition, the car behind me slowly cruised past, and then the headlights disappeared.

  “You sure know how to run a guy off. Score zero for Jessica Mason.”

  Maybe I was crazy.

  Maybe I’d been too harsh.

  Maybe I was permanently broken.

  I slept fitfully that night, punching my pillow over and over again as I heard my family coming in. A knock at my door from my mother and then my father, which I ignored.

  In my dreams that night, I ran and ran and never got anywhere. I didn’t know what I was trying to find. I couldn’t understand why the pit of my stomach was sick and raw.

  I relived the car crash. The days spent in the hospital. The moment when I knew Michael was dead.

  Then I dreamed of James Douglas. His soft touch, his kind words, his honesty. Those crystal blue eyes, filled with compassion and understanding sinking into mine, holding me to him in ways I’d never felt with Michael.

  How did James know what I was running from? It was uncanny. Like he’d taken a lot of psychology classes. Or was born with some sort of innate talent or compassion.

  Or he was a Pastor-in-training and got revelation from God. Or, and this was more likely, he’d been where I was now stuck, because of his mother’s sudden death. Maybe he understood what I was feeling more than I did.

  And, even though I didn’t want to admit it, James Douglas was like a tonic to my heart. A friend I hadn’t had for a long time. He’d already become a catalyst for change in my life. He was bringing me back to life in a whole new way.

  Maybe it was time to take a step away from my grief, even if it was just the first baby step.

  At last, I woke to a gray morning, buried under the warm comforter. But this time there were no tears on my pillow.

  I heard the sounds of the shower. My family getting ready for church.

  When I staggered to the hall bathroom, Catherine came out dressed in heels and nylons. “You look terrible,” she told me.

  “That bad, huh?”

  “Were you drinking last night?”

  “No! I’m not an idiot. Jeez, thanks.”

  “Sorry. Are you sick?”

  “No, not really. Just sick at heart.”

  “I saw you with James Douglas at the carnival. I think it’s funny Sam’s girlfriend, Lydia, is his sister.”

  “Why would that be funny?”

  Catherine blinked at me. “I don’t know, just kind of, you know, a coincidence.”

  I nudged her aside. “Let me get in the shower now before all the hot water is gone.”

  “You coming to church today, then?”

  I shook my head, just as Mom came upstairs to help get Amber and Joanie dressed in stockings and frilly red Christmas dresses.

  “Oh, honey, really? It’s Christmas week,” Mom said. “You’re not coming to church with us?”

  “I have something important to do. Maybe I’ll catch the end of the sermon. Don’t save a seat if that’s what you’re thinking. But I’m planning on attending the Christmas Eve Pageant. ”

  “I guess that’s better than nothing,” Mom said with a small smile.

  It was a relief when my family was finally running to the car, steam pouring out of the exhaust pipes, then the van disappearing into the morning fog.

  I stood at the front windows, staring at cars gingerly driving past the house in the slush of winter.

  I bundled up in my heavy coat and gloves and hat and boots.

  And walked to church. It was almost two miles, but I needed time to think.

  My feet were numb by the time I saw the sign:

  Salvation guaranteed or your sins cheerfully refunded.

  “Ha!” I burst out.

  Was salvation real, or just a feel-good moment?

  My sin felt enormous. Heavy as an elephant on my shoulders and heart. I was ensnared for life, imprisoned by my own guilt forever.

  I took the long way around the church so nobody would look out the stained glass windows and see me tramping past. The graveyard opened up to my view and I slipped through the stone gates, heading straight to Michael’s headstone.

  I knelt in the cold, icy grass. Traced his name with my fingers. Cried a little bit, but not as much as I used to.

  “What am I supposed to do without you, Michael?” I finally whispered. “I’ve tried to move on, make a life. I ran away from my family. But no matter where I go, you haunt me. I can’t forgive myself for that night.”

  The air was so still, so cold, but the gray of the sky lightened to a pale blue and a weak sun warmed my chilled nose.

  Sitting on the edge of my coat, I wrapped my arms around my knees.

  “How can I expect to forgive myself when I know I was lying to you for a long time? Because that’s what this was all about. Yes, we’d been stupid that night. But it was an accident, and the roads were bad. We should have never left the house.

  The sun touched down on Michael’s name and the dates of his life, giving sudden clarity to so many things I’d been lying to myself about. Because my guilt was actually based on a lie of my own making.

  Michael had died believing in the lie that I loved him. That I still wanted to marry him.

  But we had both been lying. Clinging to our childhood promises and fantasy because we had been the very best of friends.

  Coming home was giving me a clarity I’d been avoiding. The truth I’d been pushing away for a long time.

  That last year of Michael’s life had been the year we’d pulled away from each other, subconsciously—maybe even consciously—but never speaking of it. Never admitting the truth to each other.

  My voice was hoarse, the cold making me ache now. I couldn’t feel my fingers.

  “I did love you, Michael. I will always love you. But I knew I wasn’t going to marry you. I knew we weren’t meant for that. And I was too afraid to tell you.”

  I’d continued to live that lie. Refusing to face the truth. Refusing to let go of the guilt. Refusing to give myself permission to really live again, and allowing myself to love again.

  Burying my head in my arms, I sobbed for him. For me. For time lost. For his beautiful life, gone.

  “Oh, Michael, will you please forgive me? I wasn’t the friend you should have had. I let you down. We should have talked to each other, even if we knew the worst. We abandoned each other.”

  There was silence in the graveyard, but for the first time I’d spoken my lies and fears out loud. It was the oddest thing. Part of me felt as though Michael was actually there listening to the words—for the very first time—and healing my tears. Becuase I’d finally spoken the truth.

  Maybe that’s what salvation was. Giving your sins and pain and heartache to God. He could erase them. Ease them. And loved you in spite of your faults.

  I lifted my face to the sun, wiping away the tears, rubbing my wet nose against my coat sleeve.

  Michael would have been pissed that I’d run away. That I’d been hiding from the world.

  I had to give myself permission now, not just to mourn him, but to truly live again, knowing he would always care about me. For that was one thing Michael always said: that he believed in me and my dreams. He always said that I had a great life that was just waiting for me to grab hold of. He’d been trying to tell me, in his own way, that we were free agents. Free to be friends forever, but also free to move on with our lives.

  I sat there until I could no longer feel my toes, despite the thick double socks.

  I glanced at the time on my cell phone. Church would be over in a few minutes. People would come pouring out soon. I’d thought maybe I’d slip into the last pew, hear the final Christmas hym
n. Feel the warmth of my pretty little Montana town.

  The warmth of people who loved me. Still loved me despite the pain I’d put them through.

  The edge of my lips quirked up into a smile. I rubbed my thumb along the cell phone. Then I pressed the Contact Page.

  There was James Douglas’s phone number. Waiting for me to press it.

  How daring to call a guy!

  Hey, maybe not so daring. After all, I was calling a Pastor. Someone who could help me find salvation in so many ways. The thought made a laugh bubble up my throat.

  Taking a deep breath, I pressed the number. When I heard the other end of the line ring, my chest tightened with anticipation.

  James answered immediately. “Jessica?” he whispered. His voice was deep with meaning. Light with hope.

  I could hear organ music in the background. Perfect timing.

  “Are you about to give the benediction?” I asked, unable to not tease him just a little.

  “No. I’m watching you from the window.”

  I gulped. “You are?” I strained to see across the expanse of headstones and angels and gates, then I turned away to hunker down over Michael’s grave to stay out of the breeze that was turning my ears into ice cubes.

  “Of course. We’re having church inside over here, but I think you just had church by yourself in the cemetery.”

  “I never thought of it that way. Maybe I did.”

  “So why are you calling?”

  “Oh, right. Um, I was calling to accept your invitation to the Christmas Ball.”

  I could practically see his smile through the phone. “I think you’ve just made me the happiest Pastor in Montana.”

  “Well, that was easy to do.”

  “Hey, Jessica, can you stand up right now?”

  “Um yeah. Why?”

  “Because I’m about to step on you.”

  “What?!”

  I jumped up and saw James Douglas striding across the graveyard toward me.

  A sob caught in my throat. Dang, was I going to cry all over again? I probably looked a complete mess. No makeup. Scraggly hair stuffed into my knit cap. But I knew that Pastor James Douglas didn’t care one little bit.

  We stood with our phones attached to our ears, watching each other. He was coming closer with every second, his smile growing bigger and more beautiful with each step. A happiness radiated from his gorgeous blue eyes as big as the Montana skies.

  A strange sense of relief streamed through my entire body and my throat filled with a huge lump, so big I could hardly swallow. Could I do this? Did I have the courage? Could I let go of the past?

  A voice whispered in my ear. Yes, you can. Oddly, the voice sounded just like Michael.

  I ran.

  Only this time I didn’t run away to my car, or the river, or New Orleans.

  I ran straight into James Douglas’s outstretched arms, launching myself against him like a child who’d just received the best present ever. He lifted me up easily, and his strength wrapped around me with a warmth I’d never felt before.

  “Oh, Jessica, I got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.” Then James Douglas kissed my cheek, and then he kissed my tears, and he didn’t seem to mind that I was a blubbering baby. His arms held me for the longest time—right in sight of the entire congregation of Snow Valley Community Church who spilled out the doors at the end of the service.

  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. His 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 eyes 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: 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 her Website for awesome book trailers, Teacher’s Guides, and Book Club Guides: 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.

  This book is also available, along with 5 other Christmas romances, in the Christmas in Snow Valley anthology.

  Christmas in Snow Valley

  Check out the first chapter of the next book in the anthology on the next page.

  Lucy McConnell

  Chapter 1

  “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 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.