Christmas in a Snowstorm

by Lois Richer

  “Did I?” When was lunch? Sam frowned at the blank spot in his brain.

  “Doesn’t matter,” Joy said. “Take a bite.”

  He bit into the pastry. Somehow the savory tang began chasing the fog from his mind. Or was that the sugar hitting his system?

  “Another bite,” she directed.

  “Shouldn’t you be working?” he asked when he could speak.

  “Miss Partridge is covering. Can’t you hear her?” Joy teased as she inclined her head toward the front.

  “Oh, I’m sure Joy will be having a grand opening, dear,” Sam heard a familiar voice insist. “But perhaps it will be in the New Year, after our festival. Now how about some doughnuts? I know how Howard likes those.”

  “She’s quite a saleswoman,” he mumbled.

  “You remember her?” Joy’s scrutiny bothered Sam.

  “Of course I remember her,” he said firmly. “Grace Partridge isn’t an easily forgotten woman. Why would you think I had forgotten?”

  “Sam.” Joy pulled a five-gallon pail up beside him and sat on it. “You blanked out. Zoned out. Whatever you want to call it,” she said quietly. “Why did that happen?”

  “I had a flashback.” He knew it wouldn’t be enough. He’d have to give a fuller explanation. He’d have to tell Joy more. But—

  “You had a flashback,” she repeated, her voice brimming with disbelief. “That’s it? That’s your explanation?”

  “It’s difficult to explain,” Sam murmured, struggling to find a way to clarify without saying too much. “When I was in the Middle East, on my last assignment...” he clarified, to be sure she understood.

  “Go on.” Her wide-eyed gaze rested on him, waiting for more.

  “Okay. So, um...” Her huff of irritation at his delay made him smile. “I have to tell this my way, Joy.”

  “Sorry,” she mumbled. “Go on whenever you’re ready.”

  “It’s busy out there. This could wait until later,” Sam suggested, then shrugged when she very firmly shook her head. “Okay. One caveat. Everything I tell you is between us. Trust me, it’s important.”

  “All right.” She nodded.

  “So when I was in the Middle East—Where was I?” He paused to marshal the memories into order. “Oh, yes. Well, I entered a country illegally. I snuck over the border actually, because I needed to verify reports sent to me by someone who claimed that the country’s leader was not the irreproachable president the world believed, or that he professed to be. In fact, they said he was torturing citizens who didn’t agree with his decisions.”

  “Dangerous,” Joy whispered.

  “It was, but I had no other choice than to sneak in. Otherwise the government would know I was there, meaning the president would know. But I also needed to get in secretly because this person insisted they were risking their own life and that of their family to get the truth out. They were trusting me to report on it.” He paused and exhaled before continuing. “This person said they could all be jailed or even killed if they were found out. I did not want to be responsible for that.”

  “Sam.” Joy inhaled, her face growing paler than he’d ever seen it.

  “This person’s reports were horrific enough that I felt the danger to me to get this story was warranted. I still do,” he said soberly.

  “That’s what you meant when you said you would file that false report again,” she murmured and shook her head when he nodded. “Oh, Sam.”

  “I had to take the risk. I can’t tell you all of it, Joy. I can only say that I found enough facts and pictures to verify everything I’d been told, and much more besides. But I was captured before I could tell the story.” Even now the shock of that capture sent chills down his spine. Sam clenched his fists again, the black cloud hanging over his brain.

  “You were—tortured,” she whispered. It was not a question. “Now you have PTSD. That’s why you go into that daze sometimes. Something triggers it—a sound, a flash, that car backfiring—” she guessed, her eyes stretching wide. “It took you back there and you relived it all.”

  “You’re very observant.” Sam sipped his coffee again and shuddered at the sickly sweetness of it, but he knew the sugar had done its job. Reality was returning. “How did you guess?”

  “I should have guessed earlier,” she said, frowning. “I was a candy striper in high school. The ward where I worked had soldiers with PTSD.” She touched his hand. “But Sam, your capture is in the past. It’s over now. You can let it go and get treatment.”

  “I had treatment. But it’s not over.” He couldn’t say more. Not yet.

  “What do you mean?” Joy’s confusion was obvious.

  “I haven’t yet reported my story.” He clamped his lips together and checked his watch, shocked to see it was midafternoon. He rose, grabbed his jacket and gloves. “I have to go. There’s so much to do for tonight.”

  “Sam.” Joy touched his arm. “Let someone else do it. Take a break.”

  “Like you do, Mrs. Baker?” He brushed a fingertip against her cheek and smiled. “This festival was my idea, Joy, and I intend to do my utmost to make it work. But thank you for rescuing me. I guess the backfire—”

  “Sounded like gunfire. I get it.” She walked him to the back door. “If you need a break before the talent show, you can always come back here. No one’s using the basement today. It would allow you a bit of peace and quiet.”

  Sam shivered as, for a moment, the memories swamped him. Then, with a silent prayer for help, he pushed free of the darkness and smiled.

  “It’s a nice offer. You’re a good friend, Joy. Thank you.”

  He brushed his fingers against her velvety cheek once more, soaked in the vision of her lovely face framed by those gorgeous reddish-gold curls and then left. But as hard as he worked for the rest of the afternoon, Sam could not forget the way Joy had sweetly, tenderly drawn him out of his terrible fugue and back to reality.

  In fact, it wasn’t until much later that night, after a very successful talent show, when he was driving back to the ranch, that something flickered through Sam’s mind. He concentrated on that blank spot in his day and thought he heard Joy’s voice, angry, challenging.

  Either get on board or get out of our way.

  Sam vaguely recalled being harangued by Evan Smith right before his brain had gone skittering back into the past.

  Get out of our way, she’d said. So... Joy had been defending him to Evan? Again?

  Feeling childishly thrilled by her support, Sam drove into the yard. After he’d parked, he studied the log house as, one by one, the interior lights blinked out until only the picture window at the front was illuminated.

  Joy moved out of the shadows and sat down in the chair in front of the window. She seemed intently focused on something in her hands, perhaps a Christmas gift for one of her kids? Or maybe she was searching for a bread supplier to replace the unsatisfactory one she had. Sam remembered her once mentioning that her parents had baked the best bread in several counties. It had sounded like their bakery was still operational.

  Was there something Sam could do about that? Maybe if they knew Joy now ran a bakery... His mind swirled with ideas.

  It wasn’t right that Joy and her family still had a gulf between them. She needed her parents. Her kids needed their grandparents in their lives. Surely, with a little help, the rift between them could be mended. Joy had been an amazing friend to Sam. There had to be a way to repay his friend.

  Sam’s brain offered attractive thoughts of something beyond friendship with Joy, but he ruthlessly shoved them down. His work had caused Celia’s death. He could never again risk a woman he cared about by placing her in jeopardy. Especially with his unresolved past. Who knew what his critics might do when he finally released his story. The world was a dangerous place and getting too close to Joy could subject her to the ugly negativity
Sam faced every day.

  But even that didn’t end his desire to stop being on the outside, to stop reporting on others’ lives and start enjoying his own, to share real intimacy with someone special, someone who had the same hopes and dreams. And shared his problems. Someone who accepted him, faults and all, and helped him become a better person.

  Not someone. Joy.

  The thing was, Sam debated with himself, maybe Joy only trusted him because of the festival and because he’d helped her with the house and her bakery. If she discovered he was her landlord at the bakery, too—that he’d kept yet another secret—perhaps she’d feel beholden. If she knew the truth about his many properties in Sunshine, even though he was managing the festival for the town’s benefit, would her trust in him wane? Sam didn’t want to risk that, no matter how much he longed for a special relationship.

  So what could he do for Joy? First on the list—get to know her kids better. Especially Josh. The boy was at an age where a male figure could make a difference. Cris? That kid had a Christmas wish he wouldn’t talk about. Neither would his mom. Maybe if Sam could find out what it was, he could help make it a reality. There had to be something he could do for Becca, too. But what? Maybe his mom would offer some suggestions.

  After exiting his car, Sam walked into his parents’ house with new resolve to help Joy and her kids have the best Christmas they’d had in years.

  A part of his brain questioned his motives for getting so involved with this family. But that was swiftly replaced by a different mental image of Joy’s pretty face, green eyes shining, her lips stretched wide in that sweet smile of hers as she shared with him the joy of seeing her family so happy that she’d have no need to question why he wanted to help.

  All Sam needed to do was find something to make this Joy’s best Christmas ever.

  Chapter Nine

  After a very busy Wednesday, Joy wearily returned home to find only two of her children with Kira.

  “Sam and Josh are with Sam’s dad,” Kira explained before Joy could ask.

  Sam again. The man was like a whirlwind—here, there and everywhere, always giving. Joy didn’t have the energy to hide her grin at the thought of Sam whirling.

  “I asked what they’re doing, but they said it was a secret. A Christmas secret,” Kira emphasized.

  “I wanna have a Christmas secret, too,” Cris complained, glowering at his beloved truck.

  “Maybe you will, sweetie,” Joy soothed as she brushed a kiss on his brow. “We still have lots of time until Christmas.”

  “Three weeks, our Sunday-school teacher said.” Cris stared at her thoughtfully. “Is that enough time to get my—”

  “No, honey. And please don’t ask me again,” Joy begged, cutting him off. “I’ve told you. I just can’t get what you want. I’m sorry but it’s simply not possible.”

  “God could get it for him.” Becca danced her doll across the area rug then tilted her head to peer at her mother. “But Cwis hasta pway lots. Then maybe God’ll give him what he wants. Hey, whaddya want?” she added with a sideways glance at her brother.

  “It’s a secret.” Cris glared at her.

  “No, it’s not ’cause Mommy knows.” Becca smiled when Joy knelt beside her. “You don’t hafta ’splain to me. I already know, Mommy. You tole me, ’member? You said thewe’s lots of secwets at Cwismas.”

  “There sure are. It’s best not to ask about them because you don’t want to ruin any surprises.” Joy tugged gently on her daughter’s ponytail. “I think it’s a great idea for Cris to pray about it, though. Good for you for thinking of that. But you both know God doesn’t always give us what we want. Sometimes He says no.”

  And I’m pretty sure He’s saying no to your Christmas wish for a daddy to take you to the Boy Scouts’ father-son events, she wanted to warn Cris.

  “An’ sometimes He says yes.” Becca always saw both sides of the argument.

  “Right. Anyway, now I want you to thank Kira for watching you. She has to get going to town with her friends.” Joy smiled at her kids’ caregiver, thrilled she had someone so reliable to watch them. Thanks to Sam. Again.

  After assuring Joy she’d put the meat loaf in the oven at the requested time, Kira hugged the kids, promised she’d see them tomorrow and then raced out the door. Joy put vegetables on to cook and made a salad while humming along to the carols playing on her phone. She’d just finished setting the table when Josh appeared with Sam.

  “Hi, son.” Her smile drooped when she saw the dust and shavings covering the front of his coat. “Maybe you need to step outside and shake that off?” she suggested. While he did so, she frowned at Sam. “I thought you’d be in town preparing for tonight’s activities. Cross-country skiing by lanterns, wasn’t it? I’m sorry if Josh took you away from the festival.”

  “He didn’t. This was something we’d planned to do.” Sam shook his head when she raised her eyebrows expectantly. “Don’t ask.”

  “Cwismas secwets. That’s what Kiwa tole Mommy. I like Cwismas.” Becca raced over to hug Sam’s knees. “Are we gonna—”

  “Hang posters tomorrow afternoon?” Sam finished. He mussed her hair before turning to face Joy. “I’m not sure. I forgot to ask your mom.”

  “Yes, you did.” Why was she irritated? Joy wondered. Because Sam hadn’t asked her to go along? But that was silly. She had several special orders to prepare, as well as more gingerbread to bake for tomorrow’s cookie-decorating contest. Miss Partridge had phoned three times to revise the cookie order as registration for the event swelled.

  “I’m sorry, Joy. I meant to ask you days ago, but time got away from me.” Sam’s expression resembled Josh’s when she’d caught him with his hand in the cookie jar. “The purpose of the trip is to put up more posters in the next county, as well as speak to a couple of artisans about displaying their work in our festival. One is a very unique potter and the other does amazing fiber art, neither of which our festival has.”

  “I see.” Joy nodded. Sam was going all out for the festival. That wasn’t new.

  “I hoped the kids could come with me after school tomorrow. Kira could have the time off and I could show them some new countryside. I’d feed them supper, so you won’t have to worry about that.” As if he had to persuade her further, he reminded, “You usually work a bit later on Thursdays, don’t you?”

  “Yes.” Was that a dig that she wasn’t home enough? Joy shoved that thought aside. Sam didn’t make digs.

  Yet something about his offhand attitude seemed forced. That sent a tickle of worry up her spine, and not because she was concerned about her kids being with him. Sam was great with them. So she tried to home in on what exactly bothered her. Maybe it was his eyes that made her feel he wasn’t telling her everything.

  “I suppose it’s okay.” What else could she say with the kids listening in?

  “Thank you!” He grinned as if she’d granted his dearest wish. The man sure got excited about putting up a few posters. “If you’ll tell Becca and Josh’s school and Cris’s day care that I’ll be picking them up, we’ll get on the road right after school.” His face altered, his voice turned sympathetic as he laid his hand on her arm. “Don’t worry, Joy. I’ll be very careful. You can trust me.”

  There it was again. Trust. As if God was nudging her to remember her goal to accept whatever He sent her way. Yet those bad decisions from her past and the repercussions from them kept hounding her brain, reminding her that she hadn’t always exercised the best judgment. Trying to make her feel like a failure.

  The doubts will come, Joy. They’ll try to beat you down, to tell you you’re not good enough, that you aren’t capable, that you can’t reach your goals. Miss Partridge’s words at their shared lunch yesterday returned. That’s when you dig in your heels and refuse to be swayed. In all your ways acknowledge Him and He will direct your paths.

  “The chil
dren will enjoy a change. And I hope you’re able to persuade these artisans to join our festival.” Joy quashed her doubts. “We could use new displays and more vendors.”

  “Sure could.” Sam seemed—relieved?

  “If you happen to see any bakeries, get their card, will you? I really need a new supplier for my regular bread order.” Joy sighed. “We’re getting a lot of complaints about the quality of the stock that’s brought in from the city bakery.”

  “Oh?” Sam stared as if she’d asked him for something very unusual. “Sorry.” A moment later he’d recovered his grin as he sniffed the air. “Man, it smells good in here.”

  “It’s just meat loaf.” Joy studied his expectant face and gave in to her desire to spend a few more moments with him. “Would you like to share it with us?”

  “I shouldn’t. I traded the afternoon with Miss Partridge so she could have tonight off. I should be heading for town.” But it sounded like he wanted to stay.

  “Kira put it in the oven for me earlier so we could eat right away. You do have to eat,” she prompted him, hoping, praying he’d stay.

  She enjoyed his company a lot. She also wanted to know if he’d had any more of those PTSD episodes.

  “You talked me into it,” Sam said jokingly. “Thank you.”

  He quickly shed his coat and boots, took his turn washing up and then sat down at their table. After he’d said grace, he helped each of her children serve themselves while Joy poured their milk.

  “No ketchup for me, thanks,” he declined when she held up the bottle. “I prefer to taste the meat.”

  To Joy’s great amusement, her sons copied Sam’s actions. But Becca had no such inclinations.

  “I like ketchup with meat loaf,” she insisted as she squeezed a huge dollop on her food.

  “Determined. Takes after her mom, I’d say,” Sam muttered quietly, snorting with laughter when Joy gave him the stink eye.