Small Town Christmas

by Jill Shalvis

  “I know all about what happened. I know how you guys fought that night at the motel. I know how he walked away in a huff. He told me everything.”

  “He told you all that?”

  “He told me a lot of things. You talk about things when you’re getting shot at. And God knows, we got shot at a lot when we were in Baghdad on our first deployment. You were the girl he never forgot, Annie. You’re the girl he regretted. The one he missed. He never married, you know.”

  They stared at each other for a long emotion-filled moment; then he leaned in to kiss her on the cheek. She saw what was coming and turned her head to meet his lips. It was a pretty brazen thing to do, given the fact that Matt had been talking about how Nick had loved her. But Nick had walked away twenty years ago and never come back.

  Annie tried, for all she was worth, to take the kiss a little deeper, but Matt pulled back. He looked up. “So, ah, that’s what mistletoe is all about, huh?”

  Annie followed his gaze. Sure enough they were standing under a sprig of the stuff. Disappointment swallowed up her Christmas merriment.

  “Sorry, I couldn’t resist,” he said in a voice loud enough for everyone in the room to hear, “seeing as you were standing there under the mistletoe.”

  “Do you remember what you said last night?” she whispered.

  “Yeah, I remember. I was insane last night. I don’t know what came over me.” He let go of a long breath and turned to look at Mother’s parlor, filled with the members of the book club.

  “I don’t belong here. This is Nick’s place, not mine.”

  “But—”

  He turned and held up his hand. “I’m a guy from Chicago, Annie. And they don’t have snow here. I’ll probably go back to the Midwest and see if I can get a job as a dog handler someplace like Milwaukee or St. Louis. There isn’t anything for me in Last Chance. I just came here because I wanted to see if Nick’s stories were true. I wanted to meet his grandmother. So I’m going to go up there to the nursing home tomorrow. I’ll pay my respects, deliver Nick’s present, and be on my way.”

  “But—”

  “Annie, I’m not your soul mate, no matter what Miriam Randall says. And don’t you go mistaking me for Nick Clausen either. Because I’m not him. If you believe in what they say about Miriam, you should keep the cat. I’m guessing that there’s a handsome veterinarian in your future.”

  Matt went to midnight services along with all the members of the book club. He sat in the back of the church. He wasn’t a believer. He was out of step with the people who came to celebrate the birth of Jesus that night.

  The only thing that kept him in his place was the choir.

  When they sang the “Hallelujah Chorus,” Matt’s skin prickled. But that reaction was nothing compared to what happened when Annie sang her solo, especially when she got to the last couple of lines.

  Traveler, darkness takes its flight,

  Doubt and terror are withdrawn.

  Watchman, let thy wanderings cease;

  Hie thee to thy quiet home.

  Traveler, lo! the Prince of Peace,

  Lo! the Son of God is come!

  There seemed to be a message in that song, even for an unbeliever. He needed to firm his resolve, push his own needs aside, and visit Ruth tomorrow. Nick had wanted his grandmother to have a Christmas gift last year, and Matt had kept it from her. He needed to go and let her know just what a good friend Nick had been.

  Early the next morning, after a night of very little sleep, Matt found himself in the Christ Church van, sandwiched between Miriam Randall and another, equally ancient church lady. Making good on her promises, as Matt suspected she always did, Annie took the wheel of the van and drove everyone up to Orangeburg.

  The church ladies came laden down with gifts like the wisemen. They carried cookies and gingerbread and a bundle of quilts the size of pillowcases that they called prayer blankets. He was literally surrounded by a bevy of ancient angels of mercy.

  Within an hour, he stood alone on the threshold of Ruth Clausen’s room at the nursing home, holding a brightly wrapped shirt box in his hands. The box wasn’t very heavy, nor did it rattle. It was surely something to wear—something Ruth Clausen, now consigned to this small room, didn’t need anymore.

  He stepped up to the bed. The old lady looked pale and tiny, her gray hair thin. She had an oxygen tube hooked over her ears. She seemed to be having trouble breathing.

  “Ruth,” Matt said gently.

  She opened a pair of hazel eyes, the exact same color as Nick’s. Man, staring into those eyes threw him for a loop. They seemed clear and aware and alive.

  A little smile quivered at the corner of her lips. “Nicky, you’re home,” she said.

  Matt opened his mouth to correct her. But just as he was about to speak, something came over him. He flashed on the sound of Annie’s voice singing that carol from the night before. He said not one word.

  Instead, he pulled up the chair and took Ruth’s hand in his. Her skin was paper-thin, her hand cold. He rubbed it between his.

  “I’ve missed you so much,” Ruth said.

  “Me too, but you didn’t expect me to miss Christmas, did you?”

  “Christmas?” Ruth’s voice sounded frail and confused. Her eyes dulled a little.

  “Yes, Grandma, it’s Christmas. The best time of year. You remember that year when we had the snow?”

  She nodded, and her lips quivered. “It wasn’t really snow, Nicky, just a dusting.”

  “I made a snowman.”

  “It was three inches tall.”

  “It was still a snowman. Size is not that important, Grandma.”

  She laughed and squeezed his hand. “I love you, boy, you know that?”

  “Yes, ma’am, I do,” Matt said; then he launched into one of Nick’s favorite Christmas stories that involved a dog named Gonzo and an apple pie that disappeared when no one was looking.

  Ruth enjoyed that story, and the five other Christmas stories Matt told her as if they belonged to him.

  At some point, just as Ruth was beginning to fade off into sleep, he became aware of someone behind him. He turned and found Annie and Miriam standing in the doorway of the room. He had no idea how long they had been there listening. Both of them had tears in their eyes.

  “So,” Miriam whispered, “you going to give her that present or not?”

  Matt realized that he hadn’t said a word about Nick’s present. It still rested on his lap.

  Suddenly the present seemed kind of stupid. Ruth didn’t need or want a present like this. All Ruth wanted for Christmas was Nick. And in a way Nick lived on, in the stories he’d told when the bullets had been flying or the boredom had set in. Matt knew them all by heart.

  He couldn’t bear to look at Annie or Miriam because his own eyes were overflowing with the tears he’d been holding back for a long, long time.

  Annie strode into the room, bent over, and put her arms around his shoulders. Her hair spilled over him like a veil. “You’re staying, of course,” she murmured in his ear. “I couldn’t imagine Christmas without you.”

  “But—”

  “But nothing. You aren’t Nick. I know that even if Ruth doesn’t. You’re kinder than Nick ever was. And you came home, when all Nick ever wanted was to wander the world. He may have told great stories, Matt, but he left Ruth alone. He walked away from me and everyone he loved in Last Chance. He never came back to visit, even when he wasn’t on deployment. Instead, every year, he sent Ruth a Christmas present, as if that were enough. They came like clockwork. She always put them in the charity box. She never even unwrapped them.”

  “You knew this all along and you didn’t tell me?”

  “We all knew it. Why do you think I asked you about your reasons for coming? Why do you think Nita questioned your motives last night? I guess once you explained yourself everyone understood that you’d come here looking for something Nick had thrown away without really looking back. No one wanted to dash your ill
usions. Not after what you’d been through.”

  “And,” Miriam said, “it sure does look like Nick’s last present was maybe the best one he ever sent home.”

  Matt closed his eyes and leaned in to Annie. Miriam was wrong. If there had been a gift given this Christmas, it had been what Annie had given him the last few days—a Christmas he would never forget.

  And a warm, welcoming place to come home to.

  O Little Town of Bramble

  Chapter One

  The folks of Bramble, Texas, believed in doing things up big. And the holidays were no exception. Every building along Main Street was decorated with garland, balls, and bows. A giant, ornament-filled Douglas fir stood in front of the town hall, fake poinsettias spouted from storefront flower boxes, and ropes of evergreen encircled each light post.

  Having lived in Bramble for all of his life, the excess was nothing new to Ethan Miller. In fact, he had to admit he liked the town all spiffed up. It put him more in the mood for Christmas—which was only a day away.

  As Ethan ambled along the street, he looked up at the blue west Texas skies. It was clear now, but the weather was about to change. He could feel it in his bones.

  “Nice ass.”

  The words caused Ethan to stop so fast that Buckwheat ran into him from behind. And being run into by a four-hundred-pound donkey could bring even a big man down in a hurry. One knee hit the cement, and he had to grab on to the back of the bench in front of Sutter’s Pharmacy to keep from landing on his face. Old Moses Tate, who was sleeping on the bench, didn’t even break-snore. Of course, without his hearing aids, the man was as deaf as a stone.

  With pain shooting up his thigh, Ethan turned to get after Buckwheat for tailgating when his gaze got snagged by the woman who had just spoken. Words dried up in his mouth. Of course, words always dried up in Ethan’s mouth when he was around a woman he found attractive. And this woman he found much more than attractive. She was downright breathtaking.

  Hair as thick and black as a bay horse’s tail fell around a face with high cheekbones, a button nose, and lips painted the pink of the sky right before sunrise. She wore big movie-star sunglasses that concealed her eyes and city clothes that would be useless on a farm—but were damned nice to look at. A long, red sweater hugged breasts the size of plump September peaches and curved down over slim hips that would sit real pretty in a saddle. Of course, the painted-on jeans and knee-high boots with their tall, skinny heels wouldn’t work for riding.

  Leastways, not horses.

  A tingling of sexual awareness settled in Ethan’s stomach. But it wasn’t the first time he’d ignored the feeling, and it wouldn’t be the last. Farm life left little time for giving in to one’s desires.

  “Uhh… excuse me, ma’am?” The slow, awkward words that came out of his mouth had his face heating, and his embarrassment only grew when her pretty lips tipped up in a soft smile.

  She moved away from the pharmacy window with its display of a tiny tinsel Christmas tree surrounded by brightly wrapped packages and came to stand directly in front of him. Seeing as Ethan was still kneeling, it brought those sweet peaches mere inches from his mouth. And there was no ignoring the heat that slammed into him much harder than Buckwheat.

  “Are you plannin’ on makin’ a declaration, Ethan?” she said. “Or are you just takin’ a mornin’ prayer break?”

  The country twang that had been missing when she’d commented on his ass was now thick and familiar. His head came up, and he squinted at her mouth, trying to visualize it without paint. But it wasn’t until she reached up and removed the sunglasses that he recognized the face. Eyes the deep blue of Morning Glories stared back at him, and Ethan’s voice rang out as clear as one of Hope Scrogg’s hog calls.

  “Sam?” With only a small cringe, he climbed to his feet and within two steps had the woman in his arms. He swung her around once before he realized what he was doing. Then he quickly set her back on her feet and stepped away, more than a little embarrassed by his uncharacteristic behavior. If it had been any other woman, he would’ve been stammering his apologies like a bashful idiot.

  But this was Sam.

  He grinned back at her, not quite believing his eyes. “Would you look at you? I thought you’d gone and left Bramble for good.”

  “I thought so too,” she said rather breathlessly. Her gaze wandered over his face as if taking in all the changes. He figured there had to be plenty. The last couple years had been hard—what with his daddy’s accident and the majority of the farm work falling to him. To a young woman five years his junior, he must look as old and weathered as a leather harness left out in the sun.

  While she, on the other hand, looked as fresh as a new spring daffodil. She even smelled like flowers. He filled his lungs with the subtle, sweet scent, realizing too late the effect it would have on a man who’d hadn’t been this close to a woman, other than his mama, in a while. Suddenly, he felt like he had the time he’d gotten sandwiched between a couple linebackers during a high school football game—kinda dazed and loopy.

  Confused by his reactions, he dropped his head and ran a hand over the back of his neck. What was the matter with him? Sure, it had been a while since he’d been around a pretty woman. But this was little Sam Henderson, who used to sneak out to the farm every chance she got. Sam, who Ethan had taught to swim and fish and ride a horse. Sam, who, up until she graduated and went off to college, was the closest thing Ethan had to a sibling—or a best friend.

  In an effort to get his bodily reactions back on the right track, he reached out and ruffled her hair. “So what brings you back, little Sammy?” He glanced down at the boots. “Besides playin’ dress up?”

  The soft smile slipped, and her entire body stiffened. Ethan didn’t know a lot about women, but he knew a lot about animals. And Sam suddenly seemed as pissed as Clara the barn cat when his hound dog, Hooper, got a little frisky. Those pretty eyes narrowed at him right before she placed her sunglasses back on.

  “People call me Samantha now,” she said in a citified voice. “Dr. Samantha Henderson.”

  He’d heard the rumor going around town about Sam becoming a doctor. But since “doctor” just didn’t seem to go with the image he’d held in his head of a skinny girl in a lopsided ponytail, he couldn’t help but laugh. Which he figured out soon enough wasn’t a good thing to do when a woman was upset already.

  “Is something funny, Ethan Michael Miller?” The words came out between her even, white teeth. Her hands tightened into fists. And for a second, he wondered if she was going to haul off and slug him like she had Joe Riley when he’d teased Ethan about his size. The thought made Ethan laugh even more.

  She crossed her arms over her chest. “You haven’t changed a lick in the last seven years, have you, Ethan?”

  He sobered. “Seven years? No kiddin’?” He shook his head. “I guess time flies when you’re havin’ fun.”

  She glared back at him. “And is your life fun, Ethan?”

  The question took him by surprise. No one in town ever asked him questions like that. They asked him about his daddy and mama. Asked about his opinions on crops, animals, and weather. But never about his personal feelings. Which was probably why it took him so long to come up with an answer. Fun? No, he wouldn’t say his life was fun. It was familiar and comfortable. And that was about all a person could ask for.

  Wasn’t it?

  A munching noise pulled him away from his thoughts, and he turned to find Buckwheat helping himself to a midmorning snack. Although Ethan didn’t think the fake poinsettias in front of the pharmacy were a good choice. And obviously, Sam didn’t think so either.

  “No!” she yelled, and those skinny heels clicked against the sidewalk as she hurried over to where Buckwheat was grazing. “Get away from there!” She waved her arms, but Buckwheat ignored her completely and continued to munch on the bright red flowers. Still, Sam had always been tenacious, and Ethan had to grin when she hooked an arm around the donkey’s neck
and tried to pull him away. Too bad Buckwheat had a thing about people touching him. With one flick of his head, he threw her off balance, and she tittered on those silly heels for a second or two before landing hard on her butt.

  This time Ethan was smart enough to control his laughter.

  “You okay?” He ambled over and stretched out a hand. But she completely ignored it and climbed to her feet.

  “I expected more from you, Ethan Miller.” She pointed a finger at Buckwheat, who’d gone back to munching the flowers. “Do you realize the kind of stomach and intestinal problems the dyes and synthetic materials could cause that poor animal?”

  Figuring she had a point, Ethan made a distinct clicking noise with his tongue, and the donkey turned from the flowers and trotted over. For his reward, Ethan pulled out a carrot from his overall pocket and stroked the donkey’s soft, long ears while he ate the treat.

  “I wouldn’t worry too much,” he said. “Buckwheat’s eaten worse and survived.”

  Sam plucked a poinsettia leaf from the corner of the donkey’s mouth. “Obviously, he has dietary needs you’re not meeting. What are you feeding him? I hope it’s not the same thing you’re giving your horses. Donkeys need more protein and fiber.” She glanced down. “And when was the last time you trimmed his hooves? You need to do that every twelve weeks or his joints and tendons will get deformed.”

  Ethan squinted at her, suddenly feeling as annoyed as she looked. He might not have a doctorate, but he knew animals. And he sure didn’t need a sassy woman in crazy shoes telling him how to take care of his donkey. Especially a woman who used to think he hung the moon.

  He pulled off his straw cowboy hat and scratched his head. “You know a lot about donkeys, do ya, Samantha Louise? Because I seem to remember a young skinny girl who was terrified to get on a horse.” He lifted an eyebrow. “And it took a good three months to convince her otherwise. ’Course, that girl didn’t look nothin’ like the one standin’ before me. So maybe I’m wrong.”