Finding Love in Christmas Creek

by Mary L. Briggs

  “I’m sorry to take you away from everything,” her aunt smiled, her voice stronger with every word.

  Macy felt a wave of relief and shook her head. She smiled. “Knowing you, it was your plan all along.” The two of them had always teased each other, even in crisis situations.

  Alta nodded. “I’ll let you keep thinking that. Did you have a good trip up here?”

  Macy nodded. “The weather is good and I made fast time.”

  A frown crossed her aunt’s face. “Not too fast, I hope.”

  Macy arched her eyebrows. “Speaking of fast, just what were you doing in an airplane?” She was shocked to see her aunt’s cheeks began to flame red.

  “Oh, I was just up with Howie.”

  “Howie? Is there something, or should I say someone, that you haven’t mentioned to me? You’ve never been much of an adventurer, you know.”

  “We’re just friends. . .well, very good friends,” her aunt said. “He’s been giving me lessons.”

  Lessons? How could a woman that thought riding a Farris wheel was dangerous think it was all right to spend time up in the air? “Is he OK?” Macy asked, ashamed that she hadn’t thought of it before that moment.

  Alta nodded. “Just a few scratches. They sent him home to rest. He feels guilty that I’m the one that took the brunt of the crash.”

  As he should. But it would do no good to voice her feelings. Aunt Alta was obviously fond of Howie. Whoever he was.

  The door of the room opened and a nurse stepped inside, a small plastic container in her hand. “Ready for your medicine, Miss Colbert?” she asked, giving a friendly nod to Macy.

  Alta took the little red pill as the nurse held it out to her. “If this pill is one that makes me sleep you might as well go on home for the night,” she said to Macy, popping the pill into her mouth and taking the glass of water the nurse had poured from the plastic pitcher on her bedside.

  “It’s the one, now that the doctor has determined you don’t have a concussion,” the nurse grinned, putting the cup back on the table. “She’ll be awake early,” she said to Macy, as she headed out the door.

  Chapter 5

  As she had told her aunt, she had made good time. In fact, at five thirty, it was only barely dusk. She rounded a curve and caught a glimpse of an old and familiar sign that read Granny’s Red Rooster Christmas Tree Farm. Beneath it was a set of scaffolding, and a person was atop, paint brush in hand. And it definitely wasn’t Granny.

  She slowed, but even at this distance, she could see cowboy boots, Levis, and a blue work shirt. A ball cap was atop his blond head, as was the custom in Christmas Creek, if you weren’t so inclined to wear a cowboy hat. And no doubt, said cap was sporting a yellow and green logo for that famous tractor company.

  Her eyes reluctant to pull away, as she got closer, she caught sight of a furry white ball as it dashed across the highway in front of her. Fear rushed through her as she hit the brakes as hard as she could. The back tires, now caught up in a stretch of gravel that ran beside the road, slowly began to slide the car around. Should she let up on the brakes? Or was that when you were on ice? She couldn’t remember! The car made a wild U turn and something scraped across the back of the car. In her rearview mirror, she could see the metal scaffolding collapsing as the car came to a halt.

  Her heart galloped in her throat as she threw open the door and rushed to the collapsed scaffolding that seemed to be buried in a pile of hay. Somewhere, beneath all of that metal and hay, was a man in a John Deere hat.

  Please let him be all right, Lord. Please let him be all right, she prayed as she knelt and began to frantically dig in the dusty, dry hay. The white ball of fur, a small dog, had returned and began to dig beside her.

  She pulled her phone from her pocket. She had to call for help, her fingers reaching to dial the number, when a large hand emerged from the hay and grabbed hold of hers. A muffled voice choked, coughed, and said, “I’m OK, lady.”

  She dropped the phone and swiped the hay away from the man’s face. At that moment, he sat up and brushed the hay from his hair and eyes. She swallowed. If ever a man could look good with a cap set crooked on his head and hay stuck all over him, this one could. His sunny, golden hair almost matched some of the hay strands, and his dark blue eyes, the color of the early morning sky, seemed friendly and almost amused, despite the situation.

  Macy stood and offered her hand to help him up. He waved her help away and pushed himself to a standing position.

  She swallowed. He was tall, well over six feet. “I’m so sorry —”

  He let out a laugh. “I’m Scott. Scott Henson. And no worry on your part. It was the dog’s fault. I should have never let him out of his closed yard.”

  “Macy Colbert,” she introduced herself. She stared at the furry animal, now seated at her feet. “He doesn’t look very old.”

  Scott shook his head and bits of hay and dust drifted through the air around them, making a golden fog. “Just a pup. Got him from somebody giving away a whole passel of them at the grocery store parking lot a few weeks back. Looks like maybe it was a mistake,” he said, eyeing the naughty dog.

  Macy reached down and scratched the fluffy head. The dog looked up, his tongue hanging out, his dark eyes full of mischief. “I’m just glad that you weren’t hurt.”

  He brushed another handful of hay from his shirt sleeve. “Let’s have a look at your car.”

  ***

  Scott Henson was still waving in her rearview mirror, as she drove away. She gripped the steering wheel tighter than necessary and took the first left that led into town.

  No wonder you have so much trouble finding someone, Macy. You practically run them over.

  Still shaking from the accident, she felt herself relax a little, as the town came into sight. She slowed as she drove past the sign announcing Christmas Creek, population 2500. The town, founded in 1880 by a group of settlers that arrived on Christmas Day, survived these days by promoting itself as a small western town with an interesting history.

  Legend told that the early settlers and a traveling band of a now unknown Indian tribe had teamed up to keep out a group of rich cattlemen trying to burn them out and steal their land. The pioneers and Indians had won the Battle of Christmas Creek, and the town had survived.

  Most of the store buildings sported false fronts like a true western town. And a majority of the shops were geared for visitors passing through to Route 66. There was the Old Time Photograph Shop, Dixie’s Home Cooking, and Jackson’s Leather Works. Just down the street was an operating blacksmith shop, and across the street from it, was Aunt Alta’s store, The Stitichin’ Post, located in an old livery barn. She sold an array of items, including locally made quilts, jams, candles, candy, and craft supplies. If you kept going, on down the road, there was also a library, ice cream shop, and several other businesses, including a shop that specialized in western clothing.

  Macy took a left off of Main Street to the small Victorian house she had shared with Aunt Alta during her teenage years.

  Alta had been living in an apartment when Macy had come to live with her. After the first year, she announced that they needed a house. A ‘real home’ was the way she put it. And so, the two of them had looked and looked in Christmas Creek, as well as several small towns in the area. The search seemed to go on forever, until the day they pulled in this driveway. And there it was.

  “Complete and perfect,” Aunt Alta had announced. “All we need now is a cat!”

  CAT! Macy hurriedly pulled her keys from the ignition. Her aunt had probably forgotten about Butterscotch, the orange striped cat that ruled the house. The poor kitty would need to be fed!

  Inside the front door, she paused and took a deep breath, breathing in the scent of cinnamon that always dominated any space that Alta Colbert occupied. Home. She was home. At least for a while. Now, to find the cat.

  Scotchy, as she was affectionately called, came at once, winding her long, striped tail around Macy’s le
g. “So, you haven’t forgotten me, have you?” she smiled, lowering herself down on her heels and letting her hand run down the cat’s back. “Let’s go find something for you to eat.”

  The small kitchen, lined with glass-fronted upper cabinets, was re-modeled when they moved in. And, as always, it was spic and span in characteristic Alta Colbert style. She had even unloaded the dishwasher before she left for her ill-fated flight with Howie.

  Macy was busy scooping canned food into Scotchy’s dish when another ‘meow’ sounded in her ear. She looked up to see a puffy ball of brown fur approaching. Scotchy ignored the intruder. “And just who are you?” Her aunt hadn’t mentioned getting a new cat in any of their conversations. Whoever she was, she took right to the food Macy dished out in the little bowl next to Scotchy’s. “Looks like I’m going to have plenty of company tonight,” she laughed.

  ***

  After her shower, she unpacked her suitcase and arranged her clothing in the closet and drawers in her old room. The pink rose wallpaper put her in a nostalgic mood. She might dig around in the closet later and find some of her old boxes of memories, maybe turn the radio on an oldies station.

  But for all the memories, her mind kept going back to her embarrassing, almost deadly encounter with Scott Henson. Tall, blond, blue eyes with an amused twinkle. How could a man laugh when he was staring into the face of the stranger that had almost killed him? To be fair, the dog that caused the accident had been his own. Maybe he bore at least part of the responsibility. Still, it made her tremble to think about what might have been.

  He had said he was fine, she smiled. And he had looked fine. More than fine, standing there, his long, lanky figure covered in bits of hay and grass. Those dark blue eyes had held hers for longer than she had wanted. Well. . .maybe not longer than she wanted, but certainly longer than was necessary. Or appropriate. She blushed just thinking about it. Probably every single woman in town had been caught in the line of those baby blues. And here she was, her mind reflecting over the incident like a love-sick teenager.

  She shook her head. No more silliness for tonight. In the morning, she would be at the hospital bright and early and get to the bottom of the story that included Aunt Alta flying an airplane.

  Chapter 6

  “Well, you know what they say, Macy. Love makes you do things you never thought you’d do.”

  Macy’s eyes opened wide. “Love? Are you saying that you’re. . .that you and Mr. . . .that you and Howie, are in love?”

  Alta Colbert blushed and nodded her head. “I hadn’t said anything to you because I wasn’t sure how you would take it. I was waiting until you came home for Thanksgiving.”

  “How long have you been engaged?”

  Alta laughed. “Just a few weeks. I think right after he gave Brownie to me. Did you see her? The little dark brown fuzz ball?”

  Macy nodded. “She’s very cute.” She sat back in the armless chair that was pulled beside the hospital bed. As surprised as she was that her aunt had been flying a plane, the idea of the woman really being in love was startling. Aunt Alta had almost married once, many years in the past, before Macy had known her. But, at the last moment, the spineless groom had lost his nerve and fled back down the aisle. Devastated, Alta had refused to consider romance again. But now it had happened, after all these years.

  She smiled and reached for her aunt. “I’m happy for you, Auntie.”

  Alta squeezed her hand. “I was hoping you would say that. And, there’s one more thing.”

  Macy stiffened. What else could there be? “Yes?”

  Alta took a deep breath. “My store. The Stitchin’ Post. I’d like you to have it, Macy. If you would stay and run it, that is. And of course, the house is yours to live in, too. When Howie and I are up this way, we’d like to stay there, of course.”

  Macy’s jaw dropped. Her aunt loved that store. And the house. How could she give them up? “But, what about you? What are you going to do? I mean, you’ve worked hard for all of that!”

  Alta laughed and let go of her hand, a self-conscious expression on her pale face. She pushed back a strand of dark hair and turned her eyes to meet Macy’s. “I’m going to marry Howard Brandon, and after that, we’re going to travel in his RV, then, we’re going to live in Florida in the condominium that Howie has down there.”

  Macy stared for a moment. Aunt Alta getting married so soon? “I. . .I don’t know what to say. I mean, I’m happy for you. . .it’s just….”

  “I’m sorry, dear. I’ve sprung it all on you too soon. I meant to wait.”

  Macy swallowed hard and offered her aunt a reassuring smile. “No. No, it’s fine. I’m just. . .surprised, that’s all.”

  Alta’s cheeks bloomed pink. “Probably not any more surprised than I am. Imagine, at my age, getting married!”

  Macy leaned forward and patted her arm. “It’s never too late for love, Auntie.” At least, that was what she told herself most every day. “So, when do I get to meet the groom?”

  ***

  A light shower began to fall the instant she started her car. She leaned back for a moment and stared at the drops dancing off of her windshield, like the tiny, metallic balls in an old pin-ball machine. The morning would not have been more eventful if her aunt had announced she was the long-lost princess Anastasia.

  Her thoughts swirling, she took a deep breath and tried to take in everything that Aunt Alta had told her. The house, the store, it was just too much to think about. She shifted into drive and headed out of the hospital parking lot. Now, to McDonald’s to meet her future uncle. A laugh escaped her lips. It all seemed crazy and unreal.

  She found the last available parking space in the lot. Not surprising as it seemed the fast-food chain was new to Christmas Creek. It certainly hadn’t been there last Thanksgiving, when she was home for a week. Located in a super-station just outside of town, the folks in Christmas Creek were happy to drive a few extra minutes for the convenience of an inexpensive meal.

  Covering her head with her hands, she made a quick dash to the door. Stepping inside, she noticed a tall, stately, gentleman to the left. His iron-gray hair was neatly combed and he was wearing khakis and a green Polo shirt. His feet were shod in leather walking shoes. His eyes lit when he saw her and he stepped forward.

  “Macy?”

  She paused and nodded.

  “I was sure it was you,” he grinned, his hand held out to her. “Alta has so many pictures of you around her place, and she talks of you constantly.”

  Macy smiled. “I hope it is all good.”

  He laughed, showing off a mouth of straight, perfect teeth. “You know it is. She’s proud of you. I’m Howie Brandon.”

  “I’m glad to meet you,” she replied. He didn’t look like a Howie. Maybe a George. Or even Philip.

  “And it’s about time,” he grinned.

  Macy felt warmth growing inside of her. This man seemed genuine. Everything inside of her hoped he really was in love with Alta. If so, maybe her aunt had found a treasure worth keeping.

  Chapter 7

  They stood in line together and Howie insisted on buying her lunch. Which, of course, caused her to order less than what she had been intending. Howie, tray in hand, led the way, as they waded through the crowd of customers, busy with their meals. They took a table along the back wall that shared a long bench with other tables.

  “You get your drink, first,” he insisted.

  Macy watched the ice pelt into her cup, then filled it from the dispenser of unsweetened tea. Next, she looked for ketchup. But the dispenser was empty. Glancing over at Howie, who seemed to be busy looking at his phone, she made her way back to the front and secured enough packets of the red stuff for the both of them.

  “They were out of ketchup in the dispenser, so I brought some packets for us,” she explained, as she took her seat.

  “That’ll do,” he grinned, picking up his cup. “I’ll be right back.”

  She arranged her food in front of her, then
picked up the packet of ketchup. Peel Here, it read. She did. Except it didn’t peel. She tried again. There was nothing left to do but use her teeth. But, no, that didn’t work, either.

  Well, so much for that. She slapped the packet down on the table. The moment it hit the beige, plastic tabletop, all of the wrestling and prying on the tab came into play. The packet split open and a stream of red liquid shot forward, making its mark on the occupant of the table just opposite them.

  She gulped and her breath froze in her throat as she gazed at the red blob on the blue chambray shirt. Thin streams were beginning to separate and run down the fabric, leaving streaks of pink behind.

  “Looks like you got me,” he announced, a solemn expression on his handsome face.

  Macy swallowed and stared into the face of Scott Henson. How could it be? How could she have. . . .? She grabbed hold of the top of the stack of napkins on her table and dashed to his side. “I’m so sorry. So, so sorry,” she began. He must think her a complete idiot. One of those women that goes around constantly having accidents, always in some sort of crisis.

  His hand took hold of hers and took the napkins from her fingers. A big grin covered his face. “It’s OK, Macy. Really. I can get this.”

  “But it’s not,” she wailed. “Your shirt is ruined. And you look like you’ve been shot.”

  He nodded and kept dabbing at his shirt. “The shirt is old,” he assured her. “And I do look like I’ve been shot, don’t I? Let’s just call it a Christmas Creek gun battle re-enactment,” he winked. “I’ve been studying up on the town history, and it seems there was a saloon just about in this spot. I’m sure there was many a gun fight for folks to witness.”

  “You would win the gunfight, Daddy,” a small voice sounded from across his table.