by Leah Atwood
She also remembered the way her heart beat faster whenever the phone rang while he was at work. The way she’d breathed easier when she saw his car pull in to the driveway at the end of his shift. One more day safe and sound, she’d think, thanking God for His protection.
And she remembered all too well the day it hadn’t been his car but a police car that had pulled into their driveway.
She shivered, willing the balloon in her chest to deflate. It would do her no good to go down that road today. Ethan needed her.
“Guess what?” Ethan’s chipper question brought her out of her wandering thoughts as the doors opened to the lobby.
She smiled down at him. “What?”
“It’s payday.”
“Thank goodness.” Every other Friday, her load felt lighter, at least for a little while. That two-week stretch between paydays had been particularly difficult to wait out this time, with Christmas just a week away. Not to mention the unexpected medical bills she’d had to cover for her dad.
There was no way around it. It was going to be a lean Christmas.
“Mama.” Ethan stopped, planting his little feet firmly on the tile floor. “I said, it’s payday.” He lifted an arm in a point. “You said so this morning.”
Looking across the sea of people rushing to get from the main elevators to the ones leading down to the parking garage, she saw the side door to Streebecks Coffee. The one people used to access the shop from inside the retail level of the office building.
“See?” Ethan drew out the word and stretched his arm like an emcee introducing a beloved celebrity. “Payday.”
“Oh, sweetie.” It hadn’t occurred to her until this moment that Ethan must have come to believe that the name of the coffee place was ‘Payday’, since that was the only time they ever went there. “I know, but—”
He grabbed her hand and started to tug. “This time, I want a hot choc’late with pep’mint. ‘Cause today, it’s Christmastime.”
“Sweetie, we have to save our pennies. Because it’s Christmastime.” And because the fall Dad had taken last week had devoured her small emergency fund. The thought brought a pain to her temple. She never would have predicted that she’d be supporting him at this point in their lives. And no one had foreseen that the savings he and Mom had amassed over the course of their working years would have been so quickly eaten by Mom’s medical costs. A fact that was made extra bittersweet when they’d lost her anyway.
She forced the worry from her voice. “And for some other reasons.”
He stopped tugging, looking up at her with wide eyes. “What reasons?”
Meeting his gaze, she gritted her teeth. Now that Dad’s health was slipping too, things could very quickly add up, and it was all on her shoulders. “Just some other things we’re going to need to pay for. She tried for a reassuring smile. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
“Are you worried, Mama?”
“Just a little.”
“But you told me God makes all things are possible.” A little wrinkle formed on his normally smooth forehead. “Did you mean only things that aren’t about money?”
“No…” She hesitated. How did she explain this in a way that wouldn’t cause a meltdown? “I mean, you’re right. God handles our money too.”
“So.” He gave her arm another tug. “You don’t worry either.”
She huffed out a breath. “It’s not so much that I’m worried. It’s more like I’m…concerned.”
“I see.” He nodded. “I concerned too.”
“Oh, really?” She couldn’t help but chuckle at the seriousness creasing his tiny brow. “What are you concerned about?”
He raised both hands with an exaggerated shrug. “I concerned I want a hot choc’late.”
Valerie let out a laugh. After the day she’d had and the work she had yet to do that evening, she really could use a pick-me-up. Her paycheck had been deposited into her account, and this was a treat that the two of them always looked forward to. Besides, he was right. It was Christmastime.
She released a breath. “Okay.” Taking his hand, she turned toward Streebecks, pausing to wait for a break in the flow of people. “Come on.”
“Yay!” He bounced up and down.
Valerie smiled again. He was right about the worry thing too. No matter how bad things seemed, God always had a plan for her. If only she could get her racing heart onboard with that concept.
End of Sample
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About Author
Lesley Ann McDaniel
In addition to working as a professional theatre costumer and freelance editor, LESLEY ANN MCDANIEL is an author of romance, romantic suspense, and young adult fiction. She is a member of the Northwest Christian Writers Association and a wonderful critique group. A native Montanan and a Big Sky girl at heart, Lesley now resides in the Seattle area with her family, three cats and a big loud dog. In her spare time (ha!) she chips away at her goal of reading every book ever written. Please visit her at lesleyannmcdaniel.com
Seattle Rayne
A Christmas Novella
Sylvia Stewart
Seattle Rayne…
Rayne DeMarco pulled the string of her hoodie a bit closer under her chin and retied it. The breeze off Puget Sound ruffled her bangs, and her chilled fingers reached to protect the exposed part of her throat above the Seattle Mariners logo on her jacket. Even two sweaters under my jacket aren’t enough to keep me warm. Maybe an November breakfast in the park wasn’t such a good idea after all—sunshine notwithstanding. With a long stick she bent and stirred the coals in the fire pit and then pushed a log over them. She glanced around the empty park with its few benches and shrubs shading scabby patches of snow under them.
Dotted with pilings from old wharves, this part of Puget Sound wasn’t the most beautiful seascape in greater Seattle, but it had the advantage of being close to home. Her above-the-garage apartment beckoned from just up the street. One more cup of Seattle’s Best® and then I’ll go to my apartment, she decided. Last July, when she’d left her home in Malawi, East Africa, it had been chilly, but nothing like this. Now, her surroundings felt even colder with her mind and heart far away at her mother and father’s medical mission. Rayne stood to avoid the chill of the metal bench seeping through her jeans, poured more coffee into a cup—the cap of her thermos—and held it in her hands, somewhat protected in fingerless gloves. Ahhhh! There’s nothing like hot coffee to warm you up!
“You’ve left out the fish and bread,” a decidedly male voice said from behind her shoulder.
Startled, Rayne jumped and whirled around to face this intruder. Coffee slopped onto her hand and glove. Throwing the cup onto the grass, she leaped to the side, shaking her scalded fingers.
A sun-tanned, muscular hand shot out from a sheepskin coat sleeve to steady the cup that was no longer there. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t intend to frighten you.”
“Who do you think you are, sneaking up on a woman in a lonely park?”
The man brushed his chin–a stubbly chin. Rayne snatched up her thermos and backed farther away.
He plucked off his felt cowboy hat. “Please forgive me, miss.” Distress lined his scruffy face. “I should have introduced myself first.”
“Yes, you should have.” She couldn’t help noticing that his eyes took on an extra gleam as his gaze traveled over her nose and cheeks. Stupid freckles! However, if he
disliked the spray of umber dots generously sprinkled across her nose as much as she did, his expression didn’t show it. She saw a smile tip up the corner of his mouth when his gaze found the waves in her hair. She frowned. “Obviously, you’re not from around here.”
“Just got in late yesterday evening from my remote and peaceful ranch in Montana.” He whipped the hat against one knee.
“Well, in less peaceful places like Seattle we don’t sneak up on ladies in lonely parks – not if we have good intentions. Just so you know.” Rayne gripped the thermos like a weapon.
“I’m truly sorry to have frightened you.” His eyes crinkled at the corners and his smile warmed Rayne’s lonely heart in spite of her misgivings. “Did you burn yourself?”
“You’re forgiven, I suppose. And my hand will be fine.” Seattle’s mild winter weather probably didn’t seem cold to a guy from Montana, but she suddenly felt not just cold, but chilled to the bone. “However, any good man should know better than to creep up behind a lone woman in a park, don’t you think?” Keeping her eye on him, Rayne retrieved her thermos cap from the meager patch of snow where it had landed. She lifted an unsteady hand and brushed a curl under the edge of her hoodie. “Why fish and bread?”
“You’re having breakfast on the beach.” The man indicated the fire pit, burning brightly and radiating cozy warmth. His smile came and went, warm and friendly. “It’s just as heartening a sight to me as for Jesus’ disciples.”
Rayne nodded. “Well, I guess you read your Bible.” She screwed down the thermos lid. “But that was Jesus.” She backed away. “And I’m just ordinary me.” Suddenly her foot met a dip in the park grass, and she staggered.
He grasped her elbow to steady her. “Not ordinary at all. While hair the color of ripe wheat combined with blue eyes is not an unusual combo, it’s a very pretty one.”
“You’ve recently come from Ireland, have you?” She gathered the remains of her bagel, stuffed it into the brown bag she’d brought it in and picked up her thermos, starting to step backward toward home but keeping him in her line of vision all the same.
He frowned. “No, I said I’m from Montana. What’s this about Ireland?”
“Well,” she said, edging away and intending to leave, “it’s my understanding the Blarney Stone is in Ireland, and I thought you must have kissed it recently.”
He stroked the nape of his neck and a chagrined smile lit his face. “Hah! I get it now. Look, I didn’t mean to offend you. Please don’t go. Your fire looked so warm and inviting. I guess I felt a bit lonely on my first morning in Seattle. I came straight out this morning, and I didn’t even shave!” He rubbed the offending chin.
She quirked an eyebrow.
He shook his head ruefully and examined the grass at his feet. “I see you noticed.” After a brief pause he extended his right hand. “My name is Matt Hayes. I’m sorry we got off to a bad start.”
“Start?” She backed another step.
His glance moved to a flickering flame in the fire and he shook his head. “Look, I said I’m sorry. I don’t mean you any harm. Can’t we start over?”
Rayne stopped still. She took in his brown eyes, his dark hair, his nose with the slight crook making it look like it had been broken once. And his smile. Her heart stirred and beat a bit faster. “One of the first things all cowboys should know, Cowboy Matt, is this: even in the city, you should never approach a filly from behind.”
A slow flush crept up Matt’s face and he glanced away to look around the park. Facing about, he cleared his throat. “Okay, okay!” Matt chuckled. “I should have known.” He ran his fingers through his hair and then blew into his fist. “It’s chilly out here. Not as cold as Montana, but….”
“Yes,” Rayne stepped forward and reached for her things on the bench. “A November breeze off the water can be cold.” Picking them up, she headed for home. “But I really need to go. Be sure to put the fire out before you leave the park.”
When she rounded the street corner, she took one quick glance. He still stood exactly where he’s been standing, head hanging, staring into the fire with his fingers jammed into his hip pockets.
“Way to blow it, Matt!” He wiped his hand down his face and stared out over the Sound. “She didn’t even recognize you. You thought you were such a macho guy, you were unforgettable!” A derisive tone laced every word. “Why didn’t you just tell her you’d met before? Too proud to admit you’re forgettable, huh?” With accurate aim, he chucked his hat onto a corner of the bench’s backrest and then jammed both hands into his hip pockets in disgust. “You nearly scared her to death. What were you thinking of? Yeah, you’re memorable. Now you are!”
Since Pacific Northwest winters are known for gray and drizzly days, Rayne felt delighted to waken to weak sunshine on the next Monday. “Looks like another breakfast-picnic-in-the-park morning to me.” Her voice echoed through her small apartment. It was lonely being cooped up inside. Especially since she’d had no one to celebrate Thanksgiving with. “If there’s a scruffy man in the park this time, I can always go home.”
She made coffee and filled her thermos. Putting a yogurt cup, half a blueberry muffin, a wad of discarded printer paper and a packet of matches in her pocket, she stepped outside and locked her door. Picking up a bundle of twigs and some firewood she’d collected from the yard, she headed for the park a few blocks away.
When she arrived, she started her campfire in the fire pit and then, letting out a blissful sigh, she sank onto the closest bench. The quiet of nature always comforts me. At her parents’ medical mission station in Malawi, the only mechanized sounds were an occasional truck going by on the border road and the rumble of their generator providing electricity every evening.
She also remembered the absence of noise at the top of Dedza Mountain near their home. Whenever she came home for vacation from boarding school in Kenya her family often picnicked there. On this mountaintop the only sounds to be heard were the scrape of gravel under foot, the occasional caw of a crow, and the sough of the wind blowing up from the Rift Valley below. She would take her plate of picnic food, sit on a huge flat rock, and listen to the murmur of her parents’ conversation and to the wind. Always the wind. Although she literally saw the seascape before her, in her mind—and in her heart—she was home again in Africa, feeling the comfort, the warmth and the presence of her family.
Removing one glove, she dug into her pocket for a tissue. Wiping her nose and eyes, she then bent to blow on the fire. The logs she’d found in the fire pit were damp and produced more smoke than heat.
Hearing a sound behind her, she whirled around to see ‘that man’ coming toward her. The momentary alarm she felt receded. What was his name again? He’s just a good-looking guy who likes to flatter girls. Don’t take him seriously, Rayne. At least today he’s shaved. “Good morning. A rare sunny day in our usually dreary winter seemed like a good time to be outside.”
He nodded. “Aren’t you cold, though?”
“Sure, but it can’t be as cold here as you’re used to in Montana.”
She saw his glance take in her figure and then linger on her face. A flame of interest seemed to kindle in his eyes.
She held up the empty cap from her thermos. “Want some coffee?” she asked.
“Yes, please. I’ve been dying for a cup of good brewed coffee.” He glanced out to sea, where a tugboat made a white wake in the Sound. “I’m apartment-sitting for a friend who’s out of town and the only coffee he has in his apartment is the instant stuff. You are offering me brewed coffee, right?”
“Yep. Seattle’s Best®. And steaming hot.”
“You’re very kind. ”
“Not at all – but you’ll have to drink from the cup I used. I don’t have another one.”
“It will be my pleasure.”
She frowned. “Yep, like I said before, you’ve definitely kissed the Blarney Stone.”
He winced and eased around toward the Sound. She barely heard him mutter, “Good
grief, Matt!”
Matt. His name is Matt. What was his last name? Think, girl!
He faced her and cleared his throat. “Have you lived here long?”
“Not long. I came just last year. I’m a freelance writer. Accent on the ‘free’ part.” She extended the steaming cup toward him.
“Really?” He inhaled the brew’s fragrance. “Not going so good, huh?”
“Not yet.”
“Atta girl! I like your spunk.” He took a couple of long swallows of coffee. “I came to Seattle on business for my ranch.”
“You own a ranch, huh? Where?”
“In one of the remoter parts of Montana.”
Visions of a small “rawhide” ranch came to Rayne’s inner eye. A small rough cabin with a corral made of brush and rope.
“My business in Seattle starts tomorrow. This past weekend has been my vacation.” He took another sip from the cup and grinned at Rayne.
“You get only a weekend of vacation?”
“As they say, ‘Needs must when the devil drives.’”
“Not going so good, huh?” she echoed.
“Not at the moment.” He grinned. “We men have to have spunk, too.” He saluted her with his cup. “Good coffee. May I ask your name?”
“My name is Rayne.”
“Seattle rain,” Matt murmured. “I’ve heard about that.”
She smiled in spite of herself. “It’s spelled R-A-Y-N-E, short for LoRayne. My mother has some French in her family line.”
“Mmmm!” Matt exclaimed as he swallowed another sip. “Your French ancestry accounts for the wavy hair and beautiful blue eyes, right?”
“You are too kind, good sir.” Rayne made a mock bow and then looked away toward the Sound. “Another trip to the Blarney Stone?” She tugged at the string tie of her hoodie. “Look, let’s tone down the compliments, shall we? Perhaps other girls you’ve known were susceptible to flattery, but I’m not, Matt.” She could feel the heat rising in her face. “Besides…one’s appearance…it’s just genetics.” She faced him. “Look, I need to go home to my apartment, if you’re finished with my thermos cup.”