A Montana Christmas

by Roxanne Rustand

  Becca set the potatoes on the kitchen table, then looked closely at Kristen and frowned. “Are you okay?”

  Kristen continued slicing the rosemary, thyme, and garlic herbed pork loin without turning around. She nodded stiffly, wishing Becca would drop the subject right now.

  “Honey, we heard about what happened Thursday. You did the right thing to press charges.”

  Kristen bit her lower lip. “He’s a wealthy local businessman. They didn’t even keep him for an hour. He was on the other side of the street when I went to the grocery store this morning, and that smug smile was hard to take. He was taunting me.”

  “But he found out that he can’t get away with walking into your house and threatening you. He knows you will follow through, and that can’t help his reputation—such as it is.”

  “Yeah...supposedly. But I don’t trust him a bit.”

  Becca shuddered. “I can only imagine his wife’s miserable life, living with someone like him.”

  If only you knew, sweetie. Kristen turned around. “Your aunt is a Realtor, and I know she doesn’t like him. Have you asked her why?”

  Lane nodded. “We went to see her after you called last night. She says he’s the real estate version of an ambulance-chasing lawyer. This is off the record, but she’s pretty sure he has wheedled a number of elderly people out of their property way below market value—or has taken advantage of unsuspecting heirs. He’s too slick to get caught at defrauding them—he claims, and they agree, that he gave them what they wanted, and no one forced them to sell. But the county property records do show those sale prices, and there’s a reason he’s become so wealthy.”

  Kristen nodded. “That fits. Did she know anything about his investments in this area? Why he seems so possessed about buying this house?”

  “That’s already part of the county records, so no secret there. He owns property on both sides of yours, and yours is the missing piece of a possible development.”

  “Funny thing—he never mentioned that to me. But he’s definitely out of luck, because there’s no way he’ll ever get his hands on this land.” Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, dinner is ready, so let’s eat. I’ve got lemon meringue pie tonight—I hear it’s your favorite.”

  “Everything you make is my favorite. Bar none.”

  He surprised her by laughing with delight, then taking her in his arms for a bear hug.

  His laughter had charmed her. But from the second he pulled her into that surprise embrace, all she could feel was the absolute terror of Jeff’s assaults. He’d stalked her, taken her by surprise too many times to count.

  The world around her started to go utterly black.

  And then she screamed.

  LANE EXCHANGED WORRIED glances with Becca as he hovered near Kristen, afraid to come too close. Afraid to risk touching her—not even her hand—to offer comfort. Where had that come from? That gut-wrenching fear, those moments when she hadn’t appeared to even recognize either one of them?

  Even now, ten minutes later, she sat hunched over in a chair, staring off toward a blank wall, her skin pale and her hands trembling.

  He didn’t even want to imagine what kind of experience had damaged her so deeply. Rape, possibly, though he wouldn’t ever ask. He’d seen faint glimmers of grief and sadness on her face before now, but nothing like this.

  “We certainly can’t leave now,” he said quietly.

  “Of course not.” Becca moved to a window and peered out into the night. “I’m just glad I did evening chores before we came into town. How about the clinic?”

  “It’ll be fine until morning. Just two dogs overnight, but they’ve been fed and have water. Tank has the run of the horse barn.”

  Becca cast a worried glance at Kristen, then sighed and headed for the kitchen. “I’m going to wash the dishes. Let me know if there’s anything I can do.”

  Lane stayed in the living room near Kristen, feeling frustrated and useless, wishing he could do or say the right thing that would fix this. What was going on in her thoughts right now?

  From the kitchen came the sounds of water running, the clink of dishes and silverware being rinsed and put in the dishwasher. He took a deep breath. “I’m so sorry, Kristen. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

  She slowly rose to her feet, hugged her arms around her middle. “Please—just go.”

  “What?” He reached out to her but she drew back in fear and shock, her eyes blank and wide and fearful, as if she were seeing a different and terrifying world in front of her.

  “I-I just can’t do this. Not again.”

  Baffled, he stared at her. How had this evening gone so completely wrong in the blink of an eye? “Just tell me what’s going on.”

  But just then, he saw the secrets she was hiding. The abuse, the terror. The helplessness. The memories that Eric had probably stirred up with his oafish threats. Lane’s heart wrenched painfully. “I am so sorry, Kristen. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through.”

  “Please—just go.”

  “Whatever happened, it would never happen with me.”

  She shook her head fiercely. “It won’t happen again because I won’t let myself be in that position again with anyone. Weak. Controlled. Afraid.”

  She stalked across the room, then pivoted and came back to stand in front of him. “Jeff was a handsome charmer. Funny and loved by everyone—the life of the party. No one would’ve guessed what he was like behind closed doors. If someone noticed a bruise or a cut lip, he laughed it off because I was so ‘clumsy.’ And they believed him.”

  She closed her eyes, remembering what she’d wanted to forget. “He was a detective...and he made sure I knew that I’d pay if I tried to report him or worse, tried to get away. He always promised things would be ‘better.’ But that was a lie.”

  “I’m so, so sorry.”

  “And then...” she turned away. “We were in a car accident. I was driving when we got T-boned, and he died. Just like that. To this day, I beg God for forgiveness and wonder if, in my deepest heart, I wanted it to happen. If I actually hoped we’d both die. Which makes me just as evil as he was. Even worse. Grief...guilt...they’ve been my constant companions ever since.”

  He stared at her as the futility of the situation washed through him like acid rain. To her, men were all alike. None were worth the bother—or the fear.

  “How can I ever risk caring for someone again?” she whispered, her words laced with pain. “How would I ever know until it’s too late? Apparently, I’m a terrible judge of character.”

  “Maybe in time...”

  “No. I thought I knew about Jeff,” she said bitterly as she turned away. “But it was all a lie.”

  Regret lancing through him, he grabbed his coat and keys and went to find Becca.

  The brightly twinkling Christmas tree lights cheerily mocked him as they walked out the door.

  CHAPTER NINE

  Numb, Kristen stumbled through the next three days, wallowing in regret.

  And why not? She’d lived through a horrific marriage. She was probably responsible for her husband’s death. And now, she’d driven away the only guy she knew she could come to love—a wonderful, sweet guy—by revealing just how twisted her life had become.

  She felt a sad little chuckle make its way up her throat. He was lucky to be rid of her and probably regretted every minute he’d spent with her...except maybe when he was eating one of her pies. At least he’d liked those.

  Unless he’d just been kind.

  And now, in a little town lit up with an avalanche of Christmas decorations and Christmas music pouring from loudspeakers throughout downtown, she was curled up in a morose little ball on her sofa in a darkened room, with her two dogs.

  It was her Christmas Eve pity party—and she had two emptied cookie platters and an empty gallon pitcher of full-fat eggnog to prove it.

  She cuddled the dogs closer to herself and looked out the windows, where fat snowflakes were swirling pas
t like Swan Lake ballet dancers.

  It’s not all about you, a small voice whispered in her ear.

  It was. It was all about her poor choices and bad mistakes.

  Call him.

  But what could she say? She’d essentially thrown him under the bus with Jeff. And what could be worse than self-righteously condemning a good and caring man for someone else’s failure?,

  Call him. Then go to church. It’s Christmas Eve. The little voice was more insistent now, and she imagined it giving her a swift kick in the rear.

  She grudgingly glanced at her watch. The candlelight service was in an hour, the church was just three blocks away. No excuses.

  “So what do you think?” she asked the dogs. They just snuggled deeper into the sofa cushions.

  With a sigh, she disentangled herself from the heap of cushions, pillows, and dogs and went to take a shower. After debating about her usual jeans and sweater, she found a pair of nice black slacks and her favorite red cashmere turtleneck instead. Shrugging into her black wool coat and tossing a bulky green scarf around her neck, she stepped out into the night and locked the door after setting the alarm behind her.

  The snow was falling in beautiful swirls now, coating the pines with mounds of whipped cream and obliterating the sidewalk. The scent of pine, the Christmas music wafting down the street and the pretty Christmas decorations at every house lifted her spirits with each step, until she was humming We Three Kings right along with the recording.

  She wouldn’t know a soul at the church, but that was okay. Sometimes it was just better to be anonymous.

  A half block before the church she felt someone fall into step behind her and she felt a flash of city-bred fear.

  “Kristen?”

  Lane’s deep, quiet voice flowed over her like a healing balm, yet she was almost afraid to turn around. Heaven only knew what he thought of her now...or what he was going to say.

  If this was going to be painful, she deserved every word.

  She stopped, turned, but kept her eyes focused on the toes of her snow covered boots. “Yes?”

  “Are you heading to the church?”

  She nodded, and looked away. If she met his beautiful, warm brown eyes or saw the flash of those dimples, she knew she just might cry over all she’d thrown away.

  “Can I walk with you?”

  Again, she nodded. A familiar truck—the one that must have dropped him off—accelerated on down the street toward the church with Becca behind the wheel.

  He walked beside her, the sleeve of his coat barely brushing hers, as if he were afraid to touch her. She longed to just grab him and pull him close—into a real embrace this time—but of course, those days were over because she was a complete idiot.

  “I spent the last two days doing some research, Kristen. I asked the sheriff if he could contact the police in the Twin Cities, and I had my lawyer get on this as well. You think you might have been responsible for the accident that killed your husband because you were driving. But all of the official records show that wasn’t the case. It was an intersection. You had the right of way when you turned left, but the oncoming driver was drunk and ran a red light at well above the speed limit. There were four witnesses who signed a statement to that effect.”

  She frowned. “I—I don’t remember it that way.”

  “Probably because you went to the hospital with a concussion and broken bones, not to mention facing the shock of it all. You might not remember anything real at all, but it was not your fault. I have documents in my truck to prove it.”

  She stopped walking and closed her eyes. Tried to think back over that night. The traffic. The sirens and flashing lights and the ambulance that came just for her. Could he be right? Had she immersed herself in guilt all this time for nothing? If so, Lane had just given her an incredible gift of freedom from her past.

  She chanced a look up at him and was struck by the kindness and worry in his dark eyes. “I-I don’t know what to say.”

  “Say that you’ll accept those documents. Think hard about them, and then try to finally let all of that go. I could never imagine you capable of harming someone—not even someone who treated you so badly.”

  “I treated you badly,” she whispered. “Unforgivably. I can’t believe what I said to you. From my first day here I knew you could never be anything like my late husband, and yet...”

  He reached up slowly to brush a strand of hair away from her face. “It’s all right. I understand.”

  “It isn’t all right.” She reached up to cup her hand over his, and hold it against her cheek. “I am so, so sorry.”

  He looked deep into her eyes, then dropped a sweet and gentle kiss on the tip of her nose. “What do you think—do you suppose we can start over and give this another try?”

  She nodded slowly, almost afraid to accept that it might really be possible.

  Ahead, the church bells began ringing and she could see other couples walking toward the wide front doors. The chatter of excited children.

  Lane tucked her arm in his and they began walking again, with the snow falling all around and the feeling of Christmas in the air. “I don’t think I’ll forget this Christmas Eve for as long as I live,” he whispered as they started up the church steps. “I have a feeling that this is the start of something wonderful.”

  She held his arm a little tighter and smiled.

  Just an hour ago, she’d felt like a waif on her sofa, sure that everything good in her life was over...and yet here she was, walking next to Lane, with her heart bursting with hope.

  She glanced heavenward. Thank you, God, for my very own Christmas miracle.

  DEAR READER,

  I hope you enjoyed this story of overcoming the past in order to find love and happiness. I have a series of six Christmas novellas being released October-December of 2020, and I hope you will enjoy them! Click this LINK to subscribe to my monthly newsletter, in which you can find out about chances to win monthly prizes, new book releases, life in the country, and even a favorite recipe or two! At this link, you can also read my blog.

  If you think other readers might enjoy this short novella, please consider leaving a review at your favorite online bookseller’s website. Thank you so much!

  This novella is a part of my six-novella Christmas series published in 2020. The titles:

  The Mistletoe Puppy

  A Montana Christmas

  An Irish Christmas

  A London Chrsitmas

  A Scottish Christmas

  Christmas in Paris

  The next title up is An Irish Christmas!

  HERE’S AN EXCERPT!

  Eve gingerly pulled into a parallel parking space along the one-lane road through the village of Conneally. Reassessed. Then tried again, hooking her drivers' side tires well up onto the sidewalk just as all of the other drivers had done.

  Back home, this would warrant a parking ticket. Here, with the impossibly narrow roads, it seemed to be the norm in every little village she'd passed through.

  She waited for an elderly woman bent over a cane to toddle past, then cautiously opened the door of her Vauxhall rental car and stepped out into the crisp, snowy December air.

  Weathered two-story buildings of rough gray stone with mullioned windows marched along each side of the road. A butcher. Chemist. Doctor's office. A charity shop, with festive holiday decorations and a display of red sweaters hanging in its front window.

  And beyond that, her home for the next two months: the Shamrocks & Shivers Antiquarian Book Shoppe. Golden, welcoming light streamed through its wide front windows and the trio of upstairs dormers. The place had picture postcard charm, with the gusts of snowflakes coming down, the wreaths and candles in the windows, and a Christmas tree covered with twinkling lights inside.

  Excitement and anticipation, laced with a liberal dash of worry, washed through her as she walked across the road.

  She'd have just three days to learn about her responsibilities at the store before S
hauna left for a writing residence program in London and then went on to Eve's place in Minneapolis for a temporary apartment swap. But would three days be enough?

  Even though Shauna would be just a phone call away to answer any questions, taking care of her shop during the busy holiday season would be a challenge for someone with no retail experience whatsoever.

  But this is my dream come true—Ireland, for two whole months. And really, what could go terribly wrong?

  Eve took a deep breath as she opened the heavy front door, then narrowly missed tripping over a fat sausage of a Welsh Corgi sleeping on the welcome mat. She grabbed for the end of a book stack, righted herself, and surveyed the store with delight.

  Bookshelves lined every wall, while additional floor-to-ceiling stacks of shelves appeared to honeycomb every available bit of interior space. Upholstered chairs in cranberry and deep green were strewn here and there, each with a small table and stained glass lamp. The scent of evergreen boughs and warm cookies filled the air.

  A stout woman in a shapeless gray dress and a cloud of snowy hair stepped from behind a festive display of candles and holiday greeting cards with a mug of steaming cinnamon tea in her hand. "Can I help ye?"

  "I'm Shauna's friend from the U.S., and she's expecting me. Is she here?"

  The older woman pursed her lips. "Ach...ye didn't hear, then. I know she tried calling."

  Eve felt a niggle of unease wash through her. "What didn't I hear?"

  "It's her granny, poor thing. Took a fierce chill and Shauna had to leave for Cork yesterday."

  "But she's coming back, right? Before she leaves for London?"

  "That I doubt, with her gran weak as a kitten and all alone in that big house of hers."

  Eve gripped the shoulder strap of her purse a little tighter. "Then is...is our arrangement still on?"

  "She said nothing different to me." The woman glanced at her watch and gave Eve an apologetic smile as she lifted a coat from a peg behind the sales counter and hurried to the front door. "But best if you call her yourself."