Feels Like Love

by Jeanette Lewis

  Feels Like

  Love

  A Snow Valley Romance

  By

  Jeanette Lewis

  For my family.

  Loves, always!

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either a product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is purely coincidental.

  Feels Like Love

  COPYRIGHT 2014 by Janet Halling

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.

  Cover Art by Christina Dymock

  Interior Design by Sadie Anderson

  Elidryn Books

  Published in the United States of America

  Table of Contents

  Title Page

  Dedication

  Copyright Page

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  About the Author

  Chapter 1

  “How many weddings are we planning to have?” April’s fiancé Scott cast a horrified look at the stack of bridal magazines in her arms.

  “Shush,” April said, giving him her best withering stare. “I like to be prepared.” She fumbled for the handle of the car door and lost her grip on the slippery pile. Two dozen magazines hit the ground with a splat.

  Scott sighed and began gathering them up. “You know, there’s this wonderful thing called the Internet. I’ve heard there are all sorts of pictures and articles and information. You can find anything you want and save a few trees in the process.”

  “I won’t have internet during the whole drive,” April pointed out, “and this is the perfect chance to get something done.” She opened the door of the red BMW and slid into the passenger seat.

  “Whatever you say, sweetheart,” Scott smiled. He deposited the magazines, now neatly stacked, onto her lap and shut the door.

  April wiggled her left hand so the diamond on her finger sparkled in the morning sunlight. They had been engaged for almost five weeks and this was their first road trip. True, it was just going home to Snow Valley, Montana to spend Christmas with her family, but after the stress of finals, it would be nice to get away and have Scott all to herself.

  Well, sort of. He still had to work on his graduate project, but not the whole time. Hopefully.

  “All set?” Scott climbed in and turned to her.

  April pushed her blonde curls away from her face and wrinkled her brow thoughtfully. “Let’s see … suitcase, backpack, computer, phones … did you remember your phone charger?”

  “Phone charger, check,” Scott replied.

  “What about the presents?” April whipped around to take inventory of the wrapped gifts piled in the backseat. “Did we get them all?”

  “April, relax. We have everything and if by chance we’ve forgotten something, there are stores in Snow Valley, right?” Scott was a city boy from Denver and constantly teased her about her small town roots.

  “Duh,” April rolled her eyes. “It’s not like we’re going to the outback or anything.”

  “I dunno. From the way you make it sound, I’ve been wondering if I’ll have to churn my own butter.”

  “Stop it,” she threw him a playful smile. “You might have to knit your own sweater, but we would never make you churn butter.”

  He leaned over to kiss her. “I guess it’s a good thing I already packed two sweaters then.”

  For the first part of the drive, Scott listened to talk radio while April thumbed through her magazines, marking pages that caught her notice.

  “I thought the point was to narrow down your options,” Scott said, glancing at the forest of sticky tabs bristling from between the pages.

  “I know, but I can’t decide. Do I want the bridesmaids to wear the same dress or different dresses, but in the same color? Or should they wear totally different dresses?” April started flipping through the top magazine. “I saw an article somewhere about how bridesmaids should be allowed to express themselves and shouldn’t wear cookie cutter dresses. But I think that can look so patchy.” She wrinkled her brow. “I want it to look like they all go together, but I don’t want them to look like a chorus line either. I don’t know … maybe they should be able to add their own touch. Except that it’s my wedding. What do you think?” she finished a little breathlessly.

  Scott shook his head. “Honey, you do whatever you want. I truly do not care what the bridesmaids are wearing.”

  “You should care; it’s your wedding too.” April drummed her fingers on the magazine stack. “Did I tell you I’m thinking of changing the colors?”

  “Again?” he sighed.

  “I know. But I remembered the carpet in the church is burgundy and will clash really badly with coral.”

  “We haven’t decided on that church, yet,” Scott said with a slight hint of exasperation in his voice.

  “But you promised to give it a chance, remember? It really is a neat building; I think you’ll like it.”

  “Whether or not it’s neat isn’t the problem,” Scott replied. “The problem is asking people to travel all that way. Why can’t we pick someplace more convenient?”

  They had had this discussion many times. Scott may not have cared about bridesmaid dresses, but he did care about where they were married.

  But April had never considered getting married anywhere but the Snow Valley Community Church. Pastor John was a fixture of her childhood and he always seemed to take a special interest in the young people of his congregation. Or maybe that was just April and her friends … after the Outhouse Incident, he seemed to decide they were in need of his direct supervision.

  How many Sundays had she sat in the chapel and dreamed about walking down the aisle on her father’s arm, in the perfect white dress, to the perfect music, with her perfect groom standing at the front, tall and blonde, his brown eyes dancing …

  April wrenched herself out of the daydream. Even if she did get married in Snow Valley, not everything would be the way she’d so often imagined.

  She looked at Scott. His hazel eyes were hidden by sunglasses, but they could dance at her just as well as brown eyes. No, it wasn’t going to be as she’d dreamed, but sometimes dreams change.

  “Are you all right?” Scott glanced over.

  “Fine,” April gave him a smile. “Tired, I guess. I stayed up pretty late wrapping presents.”

  He pressed a button on the steering wheel to turn the radio down. “We have a long drive ahead, why don’t you take a nap?”

  “Don’t you want me to take a turn driving?”

  “Not if you’re tired,” Scott said. “What if you wreck my car?”

  April dropped the pile of bridal magazines onto the floor and twisted to reach her pillow from the backseat. “Wake me up when you need a break,” she said as she pushed the pillow up against the window and sank gratefully into its depths.

  The crunch of the tires on gravel woke April and she sat up in time to see Scott pulling into a gas station.

  “Where are we?” she mumbled.

  “Rexburg,” he replied as he stopped the car in front of a pump. “Are you hungry?”

  A restaurant shared the parking lot with the gas station. It was a small building of yellow stucco with bri
ght Christmas scenes painted on the windows. Homemade posters advertised tacos, burritos, refried beans, and fried ice cream, while a faded neon sign in the front blinked High Valley Cafe. It reminded April of Tina’s Place in Snow Valley.

  “How about there?” she pointed.

  Scott glanced at the restaurant and pulled a face. “Uh…no.”

  “What’s wrong with it?”

  “You know how these types of mom and pop places are; the food is bound to be terrible.”

  “Or, it might be an awesome hidden gem,” April countered. “There are a lot of cars out front; that's usually a good sign. Come on, let’s try it.”

  “A hidden gem in the middle of podunk nowhere?” Scott laughed. He got out to pump the gas and when he finished, he started the car and drove back to the freeway without a word.

  April bit her lip. “What was that back there?” she finally asked after they’d gone several miles.

  “What was what?” he kept his eyes on the road.

  “I thought we were going to check out that diner, but you blew me off.”

  Scott shook his head. “No, we weren’t. Didn’t we agree it would be nasty?”

  They had definitely not agreed on any such thing, but perhaps it was just a misunderstanding. April didn’t think it was worth fighting about. By the time they stopped at an Arby’s half an hour later, she was over it.

  The sun was slipping behind the western hills when they crested the ridge of the canyon. Snow Valley came into view, the pink of the sunset reflecting on the glittering white snow. Far across the valley, April could make out the smudge that was the biggest barn on her parents' dairy farm.

  She couldn’t help grinning. Coming home was just … well, like coming home. Somewhere safe and comfortable where everyone knew everyone else and they all took care of one another. Snow Valley was a place where neighbors shoveled each other’s driveways, where kids could take homemade cookies to school on their birthdays, and where everyone stayed around to socialize after church.

  It was also a place where the whole town turned out to celebrate Christmas.

  She reached over to run her fingers along Scott’s arm. “Are you excited?”

  “Sure. Aren’t you?”

  “Of course. Wait until you see it, it’s amazing. Fireworks, pageants, dances, a parade … we have to go to the carnival. I think there’s a model train show this year; Ben might really like that.”

  “Sounds like a lot of work,” Scott observed.

  “It is, but it’s worth it. For two weeks, it’s … magical. And it brings in a lot of tourists. My parents have thought about turning the house into a bed and breakfast, but it hasn’t worked out, yet.”

  “Because of your brother?”

  “Partly,” April admitted. “Mom has her hands pretty full with him and Dad is so busy running the farm he can’t really help with a bunch of guests.”

  “I’m glad they didn’t do the bed and breakfast this year,” Scott said with a smile. “I’m going to have enough culture shock without having a house full of strangers too.”

  “Culture shock?” she teased. “You’ll be fine.”

  He flashed her a quick grin.

  “Mom said my friend Paisley is pretty involved in the planning. Maybe we should call and offer to help,” April said.

  “With your parents gone, I think we’re going to be pretty busy already, don’t you?”

  “We’ll be fine. Ben has a nurse and Dad said he’s got the farm work mostly covered.” April gave his arm a squeeze. “But you’re right. We’ve been so stressed with school, we should try to relax.”

  Scott captured her hand in his. “I’m definitely looking forward to some time for just the two of us.” He kissed the back of her fingers.

  She beamed at him, “Me too.”

  Snow Valley was named for the prominent Snow family, not the climate, though it would have been appropriate considering the snow pack each year. April remembered many years with so much snow, the entire town looked covered in quilt batting. But every year the valley’s school children were in for disappointment. School never closed, no matter how deep the snow.

  As they drove down Main Street, April felt a thrill of excitement. The streetlamps were hung with lighted decorations – candy canes, Christmas stockings, stars, trees, and snowflakes. A plastic Santa with his sleigh and reindeer hung over the street and every store and house was swathed in lights, tinsel, garlands, and banners. Inflatable lawn ornaments were everywhere.

  “I hate those things,” Scott pointed to one yard with not one inflatable, but several.

  “They’re getting into the spirit of things,” April defended her hometown. Truth be told, she didn’t really like inflatables either, but they did add to the festive mood.

  Despite the cold, the streets were packed with revelers out enjoying the atmosphere. Scott drove slowly and April’s anticipation grew as she watched the crowds – parents struggling to maneuver strollers over the packed snow, kids bundled into snowsuits, couples, young and old, holding hands. Santa hats speckled the crowd like sprinkles on a cupcake.

  Fire barrels were placed at intervals up and down the street and dozens of booths sold hot chocolate, coffee, roasted nuts, and homemade candy. The square in the center of town was crowded with people who had come to see the live nativity and Christmas carols pumped through speakers mounted on the streetlights.

  “You have to try the scones,” April said as they passed a parking lot where the Sierra Club had set up folding tables and deep fryers under the awning of an RV. Hand-lettered signs read: Fresh Scones, $3. The thought of a crisp, hot scone dripping with honey butter made her mouth water.

  Scott looked around with interest. “I can’t believe so many people are out on a night like this,” he said. “They must be freezing.”

  April laughed. “You should see them at the polar bear plunge. Wanna give it a try?”

  “Not even a little bit,” he shuddered.

  “We’ll have to come back tomorrow so I can –” she drew a quick, startled breath when she spotted a tall man with blond hair in the crowd. As they drove by, she craned her neck to look back and relief flooded through her when she saw the man’s face – it wasn’t him.

  “So you can what?” Scott prompted.

  April shook her head. “Nothing, forget it.” Her palms were suddenly clammy and a knot of anxiety settled in her stomach. She had been about to suggest they drive into town to visit all her old haunts, but suddenly that didn’t seem like such a good idea.

  She directed Scott to the two lane highway cutting across the valley. Fields and pastures flanked both sides of the road, fences half buried in the snowdrifts. Horses and cattle had carved long, dirty paths through the otherwise pristine whiteness. April watched for the occasional farm house, her mind automatically conjuring the names of the people who lived there as they drove by.

  Chapter 2

  The farm was at the end of a long road that had been cleared of snow, mostly. Snowbanks were piled on both sides, leaving a path wide enough for two cars to pass each other, barely. Here and there the snow had not been totally scraped away and the traffic on the road had compacted it into mogul-like speed bumps.

  “Looks like the snowplow driver was in a hurry,” Scott said, wincing as they bounced over the road.

  “Yeah, Trevor probably got bored,” April said.

  “Trevor? How old is he again?” Scott asked.

  “Fourteen.”

  “He shouldn’t be driving a snowplow, should he?”

  She laughed. “I was driving tractors by the time I was twelve, and so was he. But he probably used the four-wheeler for the road; it’s his favorite toy.”

  April was suddenly nervous as they approached the house, a large, red brick rambler with white shutters and a tall chimney. The house wasn’t exactly shabby, but it was dated. Her parents had never had the money to put into renovations. She had not met Scott’s family yet, but from what he told her, they were quite well of
f and lived in an upscale area of Denver. It was almost a certainty his childhood home would be more impressive than hers.

  “You can park around the back,” she pointed to where the road curved around the left side of the house.

  There was a patch of gravel large enough for several cars near the house, then the road skirted a good-sized backyard and ended at the barns. A dark blue van was parked near the house at the base of a cement ramp leading to the back door.

  “That’s weird, I wonder who’s here,” April said when she saw the van.

  “Maybe your parents are doing the bed and breakfast after all,” Scott suggested.

  “Maybe,” April replied doubtfully. “It’s got handicapped plates, but Mom didn’t say anything about a new car.”

  Scott pulled in next to the van and shut off the engine with a sigh. “That’s a long drive. Remind me again why we didn’t fly?”

  “And miss out on a road trip?” April threw her door open. She took a deep breath as they stepped out of the car, the sharp air stinging her nose. “There’s nothing like that smell,” she sighed happily.

  “Manure?” Scott wrinkled his nose.

  “Not just manure,” she protested. “There’s hay and horses and snow and …”

  “All right, I get it,” Scott laughed and held up his hands in surrender. “I’ll have to take your word for it though, all I can smell is manure.”

  They heard a low roar from across the backyard and turned to see a four-wheeler with a plow on the front tearing around the corner of the milk barn. The driver, in thick coveralls and a ski mask, gunned the engine and headed toward them, driving the four-wheeler up over the lawn and gouging deep tracks in the layer of snow.

  “That’s Trevor,” April told Scott as her baby brother pulled up beside them and shut off the engine. “Mom’s going to kill you,” she said to him.

  Trevor stood up on the pedals to turn and survey the mess he’d made. “I’ll tell her you did it,” he shrugged, his voice muffled by the ski mask.