Wes shook his head and flashed the dimple she adored. "No. I was thinking of how cute you looked in your laundry-day clothes before you changed."
She grabbed a shirt from the basket and whacked him with it. "Hey, I made an effort. I thought men were supposed to appreciate that."
"Oh, I do." He winked. "Now, your kissing technique is good, but I think we should practice to make it even better."
It was her turn to laugh as he kissed her again, most thoroughly.
When they broke apart, he settled back against the cushions. "I have an idea," he said as he reached into his coat pocket. “Now, you might think this is really stupid, and if it is, just tell me.”
“What?” The man was full of surprises.
He pulled out a DVD and held it up. White Christmas. "I didn’t know if you’d gotten the chance to watch this since you missed your family’s movie party, so I brought it just in case.”
As if she needed another sign from the universe that Wes was the man for her. “Oh, yes. Let’s. I’ll make some popcorn.”
They went to the kitchen. Wes asked, “Do you have any hot cocoa?”
“Do I have any hot cocoa? That’s like asking if I have any water.”
“I take that as a yes, then.” He pulled her close for another kiss, and making popcorn and hot cocoa took a lot longer than it normally would.
Wes put in the DVD while Paige set their treats on the coffee table. As the disc menu loaded, he stood in front of her, hand gallantly outstretched. "Shall we?"
Paige took his hand, and her heart soared. She'd always loved Christmas, but this year was definitely the best ever.
Epilogue
“Whew, that was incredible!" Paige put the last bowl in the cupboard of the community center and shut the cabinet, then wiped her forehead with the back of her hand.
Wes slipped his arms around her from behind and kissed her cheek. "It was a wonderful Christmas dinner because you planned it. Do we want to take all your equipment back to the Bolle now, or in the morning before we leave?"
Paige turned around so she was facing her husband. "Before we leave is fine. It’s on the way, and I need to stash the rest of the baked goods where Rachel can find them. She's going to bring them to the soup kitchen for me tomorrow."
She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. "I have to say, this year’s dinner was far better than last year’s."
Wes laughed. "All thanks to you. Last time, remember, half the town was sick. This time, most of them showed up. And I've been waiting to tell you . . ."
"Come out with it already!"
"Well, enough people gave donations that not only were we able to help some families with our charity fund, but we’ll be able to help pay some of the Rogers' little girl's medical expenses."
Warmth and light spread through her whole soul. Paige embraced Wes tightly, then kissed him with all the love she had.
They broke apart, and Wes chuckled. "Well, well. I think I should have good news for you more often." His eyes sparkled, then grew serious. "Sweetheart, I can't tell you how much it means to me that you’re willing to postpone our honeymoon until after Christmas."
Paige thought about their wedding in Decorah only last week. Her heart warmed at how Wes fit right in. Her family and friends adored him. And his sister, Janelle, was pretty nice too.
Paige shook her head. "And not celebrate the very thing that brought us together? Are you kidding me? But I have a serious question for you, Wes."
"What's that?"
"How do you feel about Christmas now?"
He wrapped his arms around her waist and pulled her close. "I've always liked the idea of Christmas. But like Ebenezer Scrooge, I finally feel like I’ve learned how to keep it well."
"Me too, my love. I think we both have."
They gathered the rest of Paige's equipment and loaded it to take to her shop in the morning before heading up to Decorah for Christmas, and then their honeymoon in Hawaii. They got into the car and headed home. As they rounded the bend, Paige thought fondly about the time a year ago, when she kicked her car tires in frustration. As their house came into view, she sighed in happiness, still not accustomed to the sight.
They parked, then hurried through the cold into the house where the woodstove blazed. Their wedding portrait sat on the side table, frame glinting in the firelight, and the Christmas tree stood in the corner, draped with lights and hung with julekurver. Wes had discovered a talent for making them—after the first few tries. Paige grinned at a slightly crazy one. Newton’s tail thumped a greeting, and she stroked his warm head.
"Hot chocolate?" Wes held up a packet.
"Do you even have to ask?" She laughed and got out some microwave popcorn. Then they settled on the couch, under a snuggly blanket, to watch The Italian Job. And likely, as Paige smiled up at Wes, kiss a time or two.
Chapter One from
The Plus One
(Rachel’s story)
Chapter One
Goodbye, old life. Hello, dreams.
Rachel raced her beat-up Chevy truck down the country road in Gallatin, loaded down with the last round of boxes from the Stay Inn. A peek at her rearview mirror showed that Granny’s old rocking chair was still securely tied to the load. Thank goodness. Hopefully Paige and Wes—her friends and the new owners of the Stay Inn—would love the place as much as her grandmother had. A twinge of guilt went through Rachel, but overall, a huge burden had been lifted. She should’ve sold it months ago.
She cranked the radio’s volume up and rolled down the windows, singing along with one of her favorite bands, A Fine Frenzy, as the wind whipped at her hair. The dust tickled her nose as her tires kicked up gravel, and she sneezed. Soon she’d be traveling on nothing but smooth blacktop.
Kansas City had better get ready for her grand return.
She left the gravel road and pulled into the long, lumpy driveway, then killed the engine and hopped out. Sparky, her old Bassett hound, lumbered up, breathing noisily. Rachel patted his warm head. “Stinky boy. You need a bath.”
At hearing the word “bath,” Sparky ran back to the weathered porch and lay down, staring up at her with a more-mournful-than-usual expression. His tail thumped against the boards, dislodging bits of peeling paint.
Her mom was still on shift at the hospital, so Rachel went to the back of the truck to unload by herself. She untied the rocking chair and found a place for it in the living room, then unloaded the boxes and stacked them along the wall in her old purple bedroom. Why she’d thought such a vibrant shade of purple was a good idea when she was eleven, she’d never know. The small room wasn’t very big, so when she brought the last of the boxes in, she shoved them into her closet.
She hesitated as she picked up the last box, which held the paintings that had hung in Granny’s room, then set it down on the bed and opened the lid.
Oh, how she missed Granny. Rachel had just started her second year of art school when she got the news about Granny’s stroke and immediately moved to Higgins to help her. Then when Granny died two months later, Rachel stayed on, running the Stay Inn for nearly four years before finally selling.
She swallowed hard as she slid the paintings out. The first one was of Granny’s cat, Charlie, which Rachel had painted when she was six. The eyes were all lopsided, and she never knew why that one had been Granny’s favorite.
Rachel carefully took the other three paintings out—an ocean at dusk, a scene of clouds where one looked like a rabbit, and Rachel’s favorite, a painting of a baby girl sitting in fall leaves—but Rachel hadn’t painted any of them.
Her mom had.
Rachel remembered playing with sticks and rocks on the inn’s porch, lying on sun-warmed planks as her mother painted beside her. That’s where she’d first learned to love the smell of watercolors. Her heart lifted at the memory, but the edges were tinged with sadness. Most of those paintings had been sold when Rachel was still very young.
At least she still had a few of them, thanks to Gr
anny. Every time Rachel asked her mother if she’d ever paint again, she changed the subject, as if it weren’t important. Maybe it was time to ask again.
Rachel placed the box safely on the top shelf of the closet and gave it a loving pat. If only she’d had a place to display the paintings in her dorm room.
After taking a shower and checking her email, she rummaged through the refrigerator. At least her mom kept the fridge well stocked, even though it was nothing fancy. Rachel took some frozen dinner rolls out of the freezer and tossed them on a cookie sheet to warm up, then fetched some chicken and took a few half-dried garlic cloves out of the fridge. A quick check of the cupboard produced a huge jar of honey from the local farmer’s market. She shook her head, smiling at her mom’s impulse purchase, and began peeling and dicing garlic to make honey-garlic chicken.
As the chicken baked, she decided to make a nice tossed salad. She was just adding a few thinly sliced black olives when her mother walked in. “Oh, that smells so good!” She hugged Rachel, then turned the light on in the oven and bent to take a look. “Your honey-garlic chicken?”
“Yep! I made a lot,” Rachel said. “I haven’t forgotten how hungry you get after work. And,” she added, seeing the condition of her mom’s scrubs, “it looks like you had a day.”
Her mother sighed. “Yes, I did. You didn’t have to make dinner, but I really appreciate it. I’m going to shower first.” Rachel noticed a new line or two in her mother’s face. Even work-worn, she was still beautiful, and the few strands of white in her curly red hair—what Rachel expected her own to look like someday—only added to her beauty.
After her mother had showered and changed into comfy clothes, Rachel set the table and dished up the food. They didn’t talk a lot while they ate, which was unusual for Rachel because she usually had plenty to say, but it had been a long, emotional day.
Finally, her mom pushed her plate back. “That was so good. Thank you.”
“At least you get a decent meal when I’m here.” Rachel figured that now was as good a time as ever to test the waters. “By the way, I kept the paintings of yours that Granny kept in her room.”
“Oh?” Her mother raised an eyebrow. “I never could tell why they were her favorites.”
Rachel hesitated. Would Mom get upset? But she had to know. “Mom, there’s something I’ve been thinking about a lot lately, especially now that I’m going back to art school. You have a gift. Why did you stop painting?” Every time she’d asked before, her mom would mutter something about never having the time. That might have been true when Rachel was small, but not after she got old enough to look after herself.
Her mother took a sip of water and stared at the table. “I’ve told you before how I wanted to go to art school. Well, once I found out you were on your way, I decided I needed something more stable, and that’s why I went to nursing school. Best decision I ever made.” She smiled and picked at a rough spot on the table’s finish.
“But I’m not small now. You could start again. I promise not to get into your paints—especially anything cobalt blue.” Rachel chuckled, and so did her mother. When Rachel was three, she’d painted herself blue from head to toe. She could still feel how the drying paint crackled on her arms and legs.
“I called you Smurfette for a long time after that.” Her mom shook her head.
Rachel hadn’t come this far to give up. She took a breath and plunged onward. “I think you should paint again. You were insanely good.” A ray of sunlight shone on the table, and she watched a speck of dust twirl and dance in the light as she waited for her mother to speak.
The chair creaked as her mom slid it back across the stained linoleum and stood, taking her plate to the sink. She ran water over it, then turned off the tap and stood there silently, hands resting on the edge, her back to Rachel. “Maybe. It’s been so long that I haven’t thought about it much, but I might sometime.” She paused and added quietly, “I have lot of old memories attached to painting.”
“I know,” Rachel said, taking her dish to the sink as well. She rested a hand on her mom’s shoulder. “Promise me you’ll think about it. Your art inspired me. Still does. Especially the one with the little girl in the leaves looking up at somebody.”
Her mother cleared her throat. “I painted that one when I was pregnant with you, a few weeks before I got the news about your father. I was imagining what your face might look like when you first met him . . .”
Her mother never liked to talk very much about Rachel’s father. The two of them met in Leavenworth while he was on leave getting ready to be shipped overseas during the Gulf War. They’d had a two-week whirlwind romance before he left, and then they wrote letters and planned a life together until he stepped on a land mine and came home in a coffin.
Finally, her mother spoke. “I’ll think about it. I promise.”
Rachel hugged her mother, breathing in the familiar scent of her shampoo, spicy with a hint of nutmeg. “Thank you, Mom. For everything.”
Her mother held her tight for a few moments, then let go. By the look on her face, Rachel knew her mom was about to change the subject, and not to one she’d be happy about. Her mother raised an eyebrow. “What I want to know is how you’re doing?”
Yep. Rachel knew that was coming. Time to deflect. She went to the cupboard and got out some storage containers and began scooping the leftover chicken into one. “I’m better than I thought. Selling the inn was the right thing to do, and I don’t have any regrets.” She put the last chicken breast in too forcefully, and a garlic clove jumped out onto the table.
Her mom folded her arms and gave her the look, and Rachel knew that she wasn’t getting out of the conversation that easily. “Okay, okay. I’m fine, Mom. Really. Everything’s good. I just need a change of scenery, is all.” She tossed the garlic clove into the trash and turned her attention to the salad.
“Are you sure?” her mother asked softly. “I know how hard it’s been for you, seeing him with Paige. Maybe you can find some nice new boys to date at school—”
“Mom, will you stop? Please?” Rachel begged. She snapped the lids on the containers and placed them in the fridge, then whirled around to face her mom. “It’s been eight months since their wedding. I’m over it. Him. I’m over Wes.”
Her mom raised her eyebrows, but stayed quiet.
Rachel folded her arms. Of course she was lying—to her mother, no less. She was such a loser, not being able to get over a man who had never been in love with her, though he’d confessed to liking her once. “I should remind you that I tried dating for a while, and I’m not interested in doing that again anytime soon, especially not guys at school.” She picked up the now-empty casserole dish, took it to the sink, and ran hot water into it. “They’re too immature, and I have no time for games.”
None of the men she’d dated had ever come close to being as wonderful as Wes. She had to get away from Higgins. The quiet routine of the town would make any man seem appealing if he stuck around town long enough—at least she’d told herself that more than once, trying to justify her attraction to the deputy.
“Rachel, listen to me.” Her mom reached around her and set the empty salad bowl in the sink, then put a hand on Rachel’s shoulder. “I’m just thankful you’re getting on with your life. You sacrificed to help Granny, and I’m glad you’re moving on, whatever the reason. That’s why she left you the inn—she wanted you to sell it. She’s probably wondering what took you so long.”
“Yeah, I know.” Granny had made her expectations very clear before she died.
Her mom ran water into the sink and added dish soap, then let the water run until the bubbles covered all the dirty dishes. One day, Rachel vowed, she’d buy her mother a dishwasher.
Her mom turned off the faucet and took two bowls out of the cupboard. “Let’s let those soak for a while and have dessert.” She wiped her hands on her pants as she walked over to the freezer and opened it. “I have two episodes of The Bachelor to catch up on. Min
t chocolate chip or brownie truffle?”
Rachel breathed a sigh of relief at the change in subject. “Both, please! As if you’d think I’d choose anything but.”
Her mother opened the fridge. “Chocolate or caramel sauce?”
“Chocolate on the mint and caramel on the brownie truffle. I’ll get the fuzzy blankets.” She went to find them, taking comfort in their familiar routine. Things just wouldn’t be the same after she moved to Kansas City. Mom had sworn up and down that she’d be fine, but would she, really?
Rachel hauled the blankets into the living room, where her mom waited with the ice cream and the bottles of chocolate and caramel syrup. Rachel poured more chocolate on the mint, and they settled in with their ice cream and laughed at some scenes and argued over others—especially about which girls should get the roses. While Rachel wasn’t looking for romance any time soon, would she ever find someone who would want to give her a rose?
For now, her love of ice cream would have to do. She took a big bite of chocolate drenched in caramel. Yeah, for tonight, it would do just fine.
About the Author
Rebecca Blevins is from the Midwest, land of tornadoes and cows—hopefully not mixed together. She began reading before she can remember, so books have always been part of her life. She has fond memories of borrowing more than thirty titles from the library at a time, and her mother stated: "Rebecca sat down to read and didn't stop until she was done with the whole bag."
As an adult, Rebecca discovered a fondness for telling stories. Now she writes books for children and adults. Keeping Christmas is her first published romance, with more to come.
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