A Country Christmas

by Debbie Macomber

  “You knew Vaughn Knight?” The blonde seemed far too young to have known Hassie’s son.

  “Not personally. But from the time I was small, Hassie told my brothers and me about Vaughn. It’s been her mission to make sure he isn’t forgotten.”

  Vaughn had heard about Vaughn Knight from his own parents of course, since they’d both been close to Hassie’s son.

  Carrie sipped her coffee. “Hassie told me it was one of the greatest honors of her life that your parents chose to remember her son through you.”

  Vaughn nodded, disappointed that he’d missed meeting the older woman. “What time did you say Hassie would be back?”

  “Around six, I guess.”

  Vaughn checked his watch. He didn’t intend to make an entire day of this.

  “If Hassie had known you were coming, I don’t think anything could’ve kept her away.”

  “I should have phoned beforehand,” he muttered. “But...”

  “I hope you’ll wait.”

  Vaughn glanced at his watch again. Three hours was far longer than he wanted to stick around. “Tell her I’ll come by some other time.”

  “Please stay. Hassie would feel terrible if she learned you’d left without meeting her.” She hesitated, obviously thinking. “Listen,” she said, “I’ll phone Leta Betts and ask if she can fill in for me for a couple of hours.”

  Vaughn reconsidered. He might get all the information he needed from Carrie; then he could meet Hassie on strictly social terms. He’d been vaguely uncomfortable about questioning Hassie, anyway.

  “Please,” she said, “it would mean the world to Hassie, and I’d be delighted to give you a tour of town.”

  Perfect. He’d learn everything Natalie wanted to know and more. “That’s a generous offer. Are you sure you don’t mind?”

  “I’d consider it a pleasure,” she said, and smiled.

  With her looking up at him that way , smiling and appreciative, Vaughn couldn’t help noticing that Carrie Hendrickson was a very attractive woman. Not that Natalie had anything to worry about, he told himself staunchly.

  Working closely with Hassie as an intern pharmacist, Carrie Hendrickson was keenly aware of how eager the older woman was to meet her son’s namesake. A few months ago, Hassie had heard that the Kyles had retired in Grand Forks and she’d mailed off a note, inviting them to visit Buffalo Valley. Apparently they planned to do that sometime in the new year. Hassie would be ecstatic about finally meeting their son.

  Carrie loved Hassie Knight, who was her mentor and her friend. Following Carrie’s divorce, Hassie had given her sympathy—and good, brisk, commonsense advice. She’d guided her through the fog of her pain and encouraged her to look toward the future. Many an afternoon they’d spent talking, reminiscing, sitting quietly together. Hassie had shared the grief of her own losses and helped Carrie deal with Alec’s betrayal in ways her own mother never could. Hassie was the person who’d suggested she return to college. Carrie had taken her advice; nearly six years ago she’d enrolled at the University of North Dakota in Grand Forks. Now she was about to finish her internship with Knight’s Pharmacy and achieve her Pharm.D and become a Doctor of Pharmacy. The last few years had been bleak financially, but the reward would be worth all the sacrifices.

  After her divorce, she’d moved back in with her parents. She felt deeply grateful for their generosity but she was twenty-seven years old and longed for more independence and a home of her own. Well, it would happen eventually; she’d just have to wait.

  Meanwhile, working side by side with Hassie, Carrie had learned a great deal. When it came time for the older woman to retire, Carrie would be willing and able to assume her role in the pharmacy and in the town. People knew and trusted her. Already they approached her with their troubles and concerns as naturally as they did Hassie. Alec’s infidelity had reinforced the importance of trust and honor for Carrie. Those were precepts she lived by. The people of Buffalo Valley knew she would keep their problems to herself.

  The town was a success story in an area where there’d been few. The Hendrickson farm, like many others, had fallen victim to low crop prices. Unable to make a living farming the land that had supported them for three generations, her father had leased the acreage to his older sons and moved into town. Together with Carrie’s two younger brothers, he’d opened a hardware store.

  For as long as she could remember, Knight’s Pharmacy had been the very heart of this town. Hassie was getting on in years and probably should’ve retired long ago. She wouldn’t, though, not while the community still needed her, not only to dispense prescriptions and basic medical advice but also to be their counselor and confidante.

  Carrie knew she could never replace Hassie, because that would be impossible. But she’d always been good at chemistry and math, and had done well at her pharmaceutical studies. She also cared about the town and had an intense interest in people. Hassie had often told her she was naturally intuitive and sensitive toward others; Carrie was pleased by that, although her intuition had been notably absent during her ex-husband’s affair. Hassie said she was exactly the pharmacist Buffalo Valley needed and had given her the faith in herself to believe she could complete the six years of schooling required to obtain her license.

  “I’ll get my coat and hat and be right back,” she told Vaughn after calling Leta. Hassie’s friend worked at the pharmacy part-time and was as eager as Carrie to make sure that Hassie met Vaughn.

  “You’re certain this isn’t an imposition?”

  “Absolutely certain,” she told him.

  Leta arrived promptly and after making swift introductions, Carrie removed the white pharmacist’s jacket and put on her long wool coat.

  “What would you like to see first?” she asked when she rejoined him.

  “Whatever you’d like to show me.”

  “Then let’s go to the City Park.” Although there were a number of places she wanted to take him, the park seemed the best place to start. As they left the pharmacy, Carrie noticed it had stopped snowing, but she suspected the temperature had dropped several degrees. She led him across the street and then down a block, past the quilt store and several others.

  “I know Hassie would want you to see the War Memorial,” she said, glancing up at Vaughn. Now that she stood beside him, she was surprised to see how tall he was—possibly six-two. All four of her brothers were six feet, but Carrie took after her mother’s side of the family and was small-boned and petite. His dark good looks didn’t escape her notice, either.

  “First came the park,” she explained, walking briskly to ward off the cold. Carrie loved the City Park and everything it said about their community. The people of Buffalo Valley had worked together to make this barren plot of land a place of which to be proud. “The land itself was a gift from Lily Quantrill,” she said. “Heath Quantrill, her grandson, is the president of Buffalo Valley Bank.” She pointed toward the brick structure at the far end of Main Street.

  “Isn’t there a branch in Grand Forks?”

  “There are branches all across the state,” Carrie told him.

  “The headquarters is here?”

  She nodded. “Heath moved everything to Buffalo Valley two years ago. I know it was a hard decision, but this is his home now, and he was tired of commuting to Grand Forks three days a week.”

  “It’s an impressive building.”

  “Heath’s an impressive bank president. I hope you get the chance to meet him and his wife, Rachel.”

  “I do, too,” Vaughn said.

  “Heath donated the lumber for the children’s play equipment,” she said as they entered the park and strolled past the jungle gym, slides and swings. “But Brandon Wyatt, along with Jeb McKenna and Gage Sinclair, actually built all these things.” She realized the names didn’t mean anything to Vaughn, but she wanted him to get a sense of what the park stood fo
r in this community. Each family had contributed something, from planting the grass to laying the concrete walkway.

  “It looks well used.”

  An outsider like Vaughn couldn’t possibly understand how much the children of Buffalo Valley cherished the park. “My family owns the hardware,” she continued, pointing to the opposite side of the park toward the store. “We donated the wood for the picnic tables.”

  “I notice they aren’t secured with chains,” Vaughn said.

  “We don’t have much crime in Buffalo Valley.” It distressed her to visit public areas where everything, including picnic tables and garbage cans, was tied down by chains to prevent theft. But no one had ever stolen from the park or any other public place in Buffalo Valley. There’d never been any real vandalism, either.

  “No crime?” He sounded as though he didn’t believe her.

  “Well, some, but it’s mostly petty stuff. A few windows soaped at Halloween, that kind of thing. The occasional fight or display of drunkenness. We did have a murder once, about eighty years ago. According to the stories, it was a crime of passion.” Quickly changing the subject, she said, “The War Memorial was designed by Kevin Betts. I don’t know if you’ve heard of him, but he was born and raised right here.”

  “Sorry, I haven’t,” Vaughn said with a shrug.

  “He’s Leta’s son, and he’s an artist who’s making a name for himself.” Everyone in town was proud of Kevin. “This sculpture—” she gestured as they neared it “—was one of his very first.” She watched Vaughn’s expression when he saw it and was stirred by the immediate appreciation that showed in his eyes.

  Kevin was a gifted artist, not only because he was technically skilled but because his work evoked emotion in people. The bronze sculpture was simple and yet profound. Half-a-dozen rifles were stacked together, upright and leaning against one another, with a helmet balanced on top. Beside the guns a young soldier knelt, his shoulders bowed in grief. No one seeing the piece could fail to be moved, to respond with sorrow and a bittersweet pain.

  Vaughn stood before the memorial and didn’t say anything right away. Then he squatted down and ran his finger over the name of Vaughn Knight. “My parents still talk about him. He was the one who brought them together,” Vaughn said, and slowly straightened. “I’m glad he won’t be forgotten.”

  “He won’t be,” Carrie assured him. “With this memorial, his name will always be here to remind everyone.”

  Vaughn thrust his gloved hands into his coat pockets.

  “Cold?” Carrie asked.

  He shook his head. “I know about the pharmacy and you’ve mentioned the hardware store. Tell me about the other businesses in town.”

  They walked toward Main Street and Carrie told him about each one in turn, starting with Joanie Wyatt’s video-rental and craft store and ending with her parents’ place.

  “It was a leap of faith for you to move into town, wasn’t it?” Vaughn said.

  Carrie nodded pensively. “Yeah, but it’s paid off. My two oldest brothers are still farming and the two younger ones work exclusively with Mom and Dad. It’s a good arrangement all around.”

  “Are you hungry?” Vaughn asked unexpectedly.

  She laughed. “You offering to feed me?” It was a bit early, but dinner would pass the time until Hassie returned.

  “Unless there’s a reason for you to hurry home.”

  “No reason. I’m divorced.” Even now, six years later, the words left a bitter taste on her tongue. She focused her gaze directly in front of her.

  “I’m sorry,” he said.

  “I am, too.” She forced a cheerful note into her voice, as if to say she was over it.

  “I thought I’d suggest Buffalo Bob’s 3 of a Kind. I was intrigued by what you told me about him.”

  “He’s certainly a character,” she agreed. “But before we go there, I’d like to show you Maddy’s Grocery.” Carrie loved the wonderful and witty Christmas display Maddy put up every year. Eight reindeer were suspended from the ceiling, with the front half of Santa’s sleigh coming out of the wall.

  Vaughn laughed when he saw it. His reaction was one of genuine enjoyment and not the short derisive laugh of someone mocking Maddy’s efforts. On their way to 3 of a Kind, they strolled past the Buffalo Valley Quilting Company.

  “This is the success story of the decade,” Carrie boasted as she motioned to the holiday quilt displayed in the first set of windows. “Sarah Urlacher started the business in her father’s house, dyeing the muslin herself from all-natural products. The designs are her own, too.”

  Vaughn stopped to look at the quilt in the window.

  “It all began when Lindsay Sinclair introduced Sarah’s quilts to her uncle. He owns an upscale furniture store in Atlanta, and before she knew it, Sarah had trouble keeping up with the demand. Now people all over the country buy her quilts.”

  “That’s great.”

  “Sarah’s business has boosted the economy of Buffalo Valley to the point that we can now afford things that are commonplace in other towns.”

  “Such as?”

  “The sidewalks got refurbished last summer, and the town could never have paid for that without the tax revenue Sarah’s business brings in.” Carrie didn’t mention the new community well and several other improvements that had taken place over the past few years.

  “I’ll let Leta know where we are so she can tell Hassie,” Carrie said, and made a quick stop at the pharmacy. She was back within moments. Vaughn waited for her outside.

  There was no one at the restaurant or in the bar when they arrived. Studying Buffalo Bob with fresh eyes, Carrie could only guess what Vaughn must think. The ex-biker was a burly man. He was an oddity here in a town where most men came off the farm. With his thinning hair drawn back into a ponytail and his muscular arms covered in tattoos, he looked as though he’d be more comfortable with a biker gang than waiting tables.

  “How ya doin’, Carrie?” he greeted her when she took a seat across the table from Vaughn.

  “Good, Bob. Come meet Vaughn Kyle.”

  “Welcome to Buffalo Valley,” Bob said, extending his hand for a hearty shake. “Merrily told me you’d dropped by.” Bob gave them each a menu. “Take a look, but the special tonight is Salisbury steak. I don’t mind telling you it’s excellent.” He grinned. “And who would know better than me?”

  “I’m convinced,” Vaughn told him with an answering smile. “I’ll have the special.”

  “Me, too,” Carrie said, returning the menu.

  Bob left them, and Carrie tried to relax but found it difficult. She hadn’t been alone with a man, other than her brothers, in a very long time. Following her divorce, she’d only dated twice, and both occasions had been awkward. Her schooling, plus her internship, didn’t leave much room for a social life, anyway.

  Vaughn sat back in his chair. “Tell me about Hassie,” he suggested easily.

  Carrie felt the tightness leave her shoulders. On the subject of Hassie, she could talk his ear off. “What would you like to know first?”

  “Whatever you feel is important.”

  “She’s been my hero for as long as I can remember. I don’t know what would’ve happened to this town without her.” Carrie wanted him to realize how deeply Hassie was loved by everyone in Buffalo Valley. “She’s older now, and she’s slowing down some.” Carrie had seen the evidence of that in the months since she’d come to work as an intern. She almost suspected that Hassie had been holding on until she got there.

  Vaughn glanced at Buffalo Bob as he brought their salads and nodded his thanks. “Every year, along with my birthday card and a U.S. Savings Bond, she wrote me a short message.” His mouth lifted in a half smile. “She called it words to live by.”

  “Give me an example,” Carrie said, curious.

  “I don’t remember them all, bu
t...okay, she told me about the importance of being on time. Only, she did it by making up this little poem....” He hesitated and a slow grin crossed his face. “She once wrote that if at first I don’t succeed, it just means I’m normal.”

  “That sounds like Hassie.”

  “She has a wonderful way of putting things.” He paused, a reflective look on his face. “When I was sixteen, she told me the grass isn’t greener on the other side of the fence, it’s greener where it’s watered.”

  “I think it’s wonderful that you remembered them.”

  “How could I not, when she made them so much fun? She was like an extra grandmother.”

  Hearing that warmed Carrie’s heart, because she knew Hassie felt toward him the way she would a grandson.

  They were silent as they ate their salads. Buffalo Bob had made even a plain lettuce, cucumber and tomato salad taste delicious with the addition of a tart-sweet cranberry dressing. They were just finishing when Bob reappeared, carrying two plates heaped with food. He placed them in front of Vaughn and Carrie, then stepped back, and said, “Enjoy.”

  Vaughn stared after him as he returned to the kitchen. “He’s not the typical sort of person you find in a place like this, is he?”

  “Bob’s a sweetheart,” she said defensively. “He’s hardworking and well-liked and a wonderful father and—”

  “Tell me how he happened to land in Buffalo Valley,” Vaughn broke in. He reached for his fork, tasting the fluffy mashed potatoes and tender gravy-covered steak.

  “He came here when the town was at its lowest point. My uncle Earl owned this hotel and he’d been trying to sell it for years. Seeing that there weren’t any buyers and he was losing money every month, my uncle devised an unusual poker game. It cost a thousand dollars to play, but the winner walked away with the hotel, restaurant and bar. Lock, stock and barrel.”

  Vaughn’s brows arched. “And Bob won it with three of a kind.”

  “Exactly.”

  Vaughn shook his head. “More power to him.”

  “A lot has changed since then, all of it for the better. Bob married Merrily, and two and a half years ago, they had little Bobby.”