Christmas Comes to Dickens

by Nancy Fraser

“You bet.” He came around the cutting table to put his arms around her. “I’ll never again miss Christmas in Dickens.”

  The End

  A Note From Liz Flaherty

  THERE WERE JUST SO many things to love when the idea for spending some writer time in Dickens came up. Holidays, heroes, heroines, memories, warm hearts, snowmen...way too many to list here. I was so excited to be asked to join in the fun. I hope you have a good time, too. ~ Liz

  About Liz Flaherty

  RETIRED FROM THE POST office and married to Duane for...a really long time, USA Today Best Selling author Liz Flaherty has had a heart-shaped adult life, populated with kids and grands and wonderful friends. She admits she can be boring, but hopes her curiosity about everyone and everything around her keeps her from it. She likes traveling and quilting and reading. And she loves writing.

  Web and Social Media Links

  Website ~ Goodreads

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  Pinterest ~ Newsletter Sign Up

  Operation Snowball

  Kathryn Hills

  Best Selling Author

  Operation Snowball

  JOHN GRIDLEY HASN’T set foot on the family Christmas tree farm in years. He walked away from his legacy and the quaint New England town of Dickens. But when his father looks to end their private war and reaches out for help with the hectic holiday season, John agrees to return home. He expected to work hard, and to face the reasons he left home in the first place. What he didn’t expect was to crash into love at first sight.

  Heather Murphy has been a widow and single mother for five years. She’s busy raising a rambunctious ten-year-old girl and running The Library Cat Bookstore. Yet an annual visit to Gridley Meadows Farm to find “the perfect Christmas tree” sparks more than holiday spirit. Can the handsome Army veteran with tattoos and rough edges truly heal her heart? And will the townsfolk cheer on the drifter and the pretty widow? Or will their meddling cause the relationship to flicker out like a bad string of lights?

  A homecoming story of hope and redemption, where love hangs on holiday wishes and the fate of a missing cat named Snowball.

  Dedication

  OPERATION SNOWBALL is dedicated to my father, who never grew tired of traipsing through tree lots until we found “the perfect Christmas tree.”

  Chapter 1

  JOHN GRIDLEY ROLLED to a standstill at the first string of traffic lights on Main Street. His gaze drifted over the heart of his hometown.

  Dickens. Exactly the way he remembered it.

  Loneliness crept into his heart alongside sad memories.

  On an impulse, he pressed speed dial on his dash and was surprised the call connected on the first ring.

  “This is Kimberly.”

  “Hey, miss me yet?”

  There was a long pause. “John? Where are you?”

  The edgy feminine voice prickled his nerves. Yup. Still mad.

  “Just cruising into Dickens.” He gently pressed the gas pedal and coasted through the town’s center that looked like it belonged in a holiday movie. Christmas decorations on lampposts and in windows, the classic gazebo all done up on the Common.

  Another red light interrupted his progress, this time directly in front of quaint shops lining both sides of the street.

  “What’s it like there, anyway? Is there snow?” his one-time girlfriend back in sunny California nonchalantly asked.

  John could hear her typing, no doubt working feverishly to flip her next overpriced house. “Clear and cold. No white stuff yet.”

  He craned his neck to watch some action taking place alongside his vehicle. A little girl in a puffy coat hauled a red wagon up to a utility pole. She positioned a step ladder, climbed the few rungs, and began taping up a sign.

  “Oh, man,” he muttered under his breath.

  “What?”

  “Nothing. Just some kid, putting up flyers about a missing cat. ‘Snowball. White. Female. Blue eyes.’”

  “That’s so sad.” Kim’s voice registered the first real sign of emotion since picking up. “I hope she finds it.”

  John didn’t comment. He was riveted to the scene. The determined child moved to the next pole to do the same thing. Undaunted, she hung another sign. A long, reddish-brown braid poked out from beneath her snowy white hat, swishing as she worked.

  “What? You don’t care? Some kid loses a cat, and—”

  “Whoa, I never said I don’t care,” he defended.

  “Well, you could’ve fooled me.”

  He scowled as someone behind honked when he missed the green light. “Alright, alright. Sorry,” he griped. He turned his attention back to Kim. “Are we talking about the kid, or is this about the thing between you and me?”

  Silence was all he got back.

  “Kim?”

  “I don’t know, John. You up and leave me when I hired you to help with this new property. It’s just the latest thing between us. We both know it’s over. It’s been over for months. I didn’t really mean it when I said we could be friends.”

  “I did not up and leave you. My father asked for help, remember? It’s not like I had anything to do with his right-hand man bailing just before the busiest time of the year.”

  “Well, I’m busy too. I figured if you could help me out, but...” She huffed a dramatic sigh. “You know what? Forget about it. Forget about me, forget about the work, forget about everything. You’re home for the first time in a decade. Enjoy yourself. Catch up. Make your father happy.”

  Happy? Is she kidding? This was the height of the busy season for Gridley Meadows Farm. His old man was likely stressed out of his mind.

  I’m stressed out of my mind, returning to the life I walked away from.

  “Goodbye, Kim,” was all he said before killing the call.

  HEATHER MURPHY LOOKED up as her ten-year-old daughter moped into the backroom of The Library Cat Bookstore. “Hey, Hailey. Did you hang all your signs?”

  “Yup.” Hailey gave a little shiver.

  “Oh, sweetie, I’m so sorry about Snowball.” Heather dropped what she was doing and went straight to her girl. She wrapped Hailey in the tight, protective knot of her arms and kissed her head. “I printed more signs already. Once we close, I’ll help you hang them. Plus, we can visit all the shops and hang some on the lampposts on the Common.”

  “Okay.” The sad little girl pulled away to peel off her winter layers, fighting the crackle of static cling, before tossing everything into a wadded pile. “I’m going to do my homework.”

  Heather’s brows rose. “You’re volunteering to do homework on a Friday afternoon? Now I’m really worried.”

  Hailey shrugged. “Nothing else to do. I might as well memorize my vocabulary words for next week. Mrs. Ellis will probably give us a surprise test. She doesn’t care if it’s almost Christmas.” She glanced around. “Is it okay if I stay in the shop with you instead of going upstairs? It’s too lonely up there without Snowball.”

  “Sure, honey. Business is pretty light today. Go take over the back corner and spread out in the big chairs by the fireplace.”

  “You mean the ones Snowball loved?” the girl cried.

  Heather cringed. “You pick where you want to sit. I’ll see if I can flip the sign to Closed a little early today. Sound good?”

  With her daughter’s nod, she went back to unpacking the special holiday books Tom Gridley ordered for the Gridley Meadows Farm gift shop. The one-room store in an old Nordic-style barn housed winter holiday trinkets, along with items like tree stands, and wreath hooks. This year’s addition to Tom’s shelves were books on snowflakes, angels, fairies, and wishing stars. Charming for all ages.

  Heather sat back on her heels.

  Perhaps I should take Hailey with me to deliver these?

  She stroked a loving hand over the glittering cover of a book, and she decided. That would be a very good idea.

  Chapter 2

  JOHN PULLED OFF TO the side of the road when he cres
ted the big hill before the farm. His first glimpse of home caused a lump to form in his throat. He’d grown up in this beautiful place. However, his feelings were complicated by how long he’d purposefully stayed away.

  A familiar wave of guilt washed over him.

  He’d kept in touch with his father. At least that’s what he told himself. But he never could face coming home after losing his mother.

  Stepping from the car, he took a deep breath of cold country air. The sweet smell of pine filled him with memories. He closed his eyes, recalling the close-knit family they’d once been. Yet everything changed with one phone call.

  “Your mom is gone, Johnny Boy.”

  With a long, ragged sigh, he surveyed the scenery in the fading winter light. Nearly a decade hadn’t changed much about the farm at first glance. The land was more developed now than in his younger years. His father had shared some details about the upgrades. Doubling the plantings on the seventy-five acres Pops inherited from his father, who inherited from his. Gridley land for over a century. A real generational farm.

  Until I broke the chain by enlisting in the Army.

  His mother understood he wanted more than small-town life. But Pops hadn’t. “This farm is in your blood, it’s your birthright. You should be workin’ this land with me, not traipsing around the globe.”

  Today Gridley Meadows Farm had thirty thousand Christmas trees growing in various stages. Spread out before his eyes in sprawling rows of deep green and silvery sage. From six and seven-footers—considered standard height trees—to mini tabletops, thin apartment-sized, and even fifteen-foot Cathedral-heights. Something for everyone. Folks could traipse off into the rolling hills to cut their own or choose from the pre-cuts down by the barn.

  According to Pops, they kept a small gift shop these days. Ground Zero for Christmas shoppers. The first stop on the holiday bucket list for many locals. Still others came from miles away because it was tradition to get their tree here.

  John tried to explain all this to Kim when his father first called, but she wasn’t buying it.

  “Can’t he just hire someone? I’m sure there are people looking to make extra holiday cash.”

  Yet the farm required so much more sacrifice.

  His father was like a soil scientist, testing and adjusting the rich earth with each season. Crop planning and yield management influenced every decision throughout the year. Planting seedlings in the spring, sheering and shaping all summer long. An ongoing cycle of harvest and renewal.

  “Just go cut a few trees and get it over with,” she’d argued. “Then come home.”

  But this was home. Whether he’d admitted it or not.

  After all these years, he knew the old man would never ask for help if he didn’t truly need it. Tom Gridley wasn’t an easygoing man. He’d likely held off asking until he was stretched beyond reason. Not a good thing for a man in his late sixties.

  Which meant there was no easy exit strategy. This was a long-haul mission.

  With one last look around—trees, glistening with frost as the sun dropped behind blue hills—John resigned himself to being home.

  A few minutes later, he entered the old red barn near the front of the property. “Pops, you in here? I smelled the smoke from the wood stove the second I pulled in.”

  “Ho, Johnny Boy. In here,” his old man called from the shop side of the building.

  John met him in the wide-open space, and the two men clasped hands and then awkwardly embraced.

  Tom Gridley leaned back and pushed smudged glasses up his ruddy nose. “Let me look at ya, boy. Damn, if you’re not a sight for sore eyes.” He patted John’s arms and shoulders through his jacket. “Still workin’ out, I see. Any new tattoos under there?”

  “Old habits die hard, Pops,” John admitted. Then he rubbed his belly. “Bit paunchier now though. I eat out way too much. I’m thinkin’ you’ll work the soft spots outa me. You always did.”

  His father’s tentative smile fell away, and he turned back to what he’d been working on—sanding the tops of old worktables. “Sorry to drag you away from your life, John. You know I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t need you. Manager leavin’ with little more than a day’s notice. Dealt me a powerful blow. It’s harvest time, and folks will be coming like there’s a snow shovel sale day before a blizzard. I can’t handle it alone.”

  “I know, Pops, that’s why I’m here.” John glanced around, looking for familiar things. “You’ve done a lot with this old place. Looks downright presentable. No more cobwebs and tools hanging everywhere. Shelves and special lighting? What are you doing with these old tables?”

  “Sprucin’ ’em up. I had the notion to bring in some holiday books to sell. You know...the kind your mother always loved.”

  John gave a curt nod at the mention of his mother.

  “You’ve no idea what customers are like now. They don’t just pick a tree and leave. They want the whole holiday experience. Hot cocoa and sleigh rides. Christmas music piped in. That old wood stove, crackling away. It’s no longer just to keep the icicles off your nose. It’s for what they call ambiance.”

  “Ambiance?” John grunted. “And sleigh rides and cocoa? How the hell do you pull that off?”

  “Got two Danish draft horses now, in addition to some petting zoo animals. Goats and rabbits. That crabby old sheep is still alive.”

  “Mutton Chops?” John laughed. “He’s part of a petting zoo? Serves his smelly old hide right.”

  “Hired some local kids to help me out.”

  “Kids?”

  “You’re all kids to me.” Tom shook his white-haired head. “Brian is one, and a couple of his friends. Animal Science majors over at the university. They care for all the creatures as part of their schooling. And Wendy...she graduated last year with a business degree. She operates the store and does all the ‘social stuff.’ Got us a fancy website now. Plus, she handles the cocoa part.” His eyes twinkled with mischief. “Did I mention there are cookies and muffins as big as your fists? Wendy partnered with a local bakery—Leslie’s Bakes & More—to bring in special holiday treats. Visitors lap ’em up for real money.”

  John outright laughed then. “Sounds as if I’m gonna like being back.”

  “I hope so, Son.” Pop’s voice turned somber. “I’ve been doing some real soul searching on whether I should sell after this season. It’s hard work. Hate to admit it, but I’m too old to do it alone. A real estate man has been calling me for months. Fella makes a strong case for selling. Still, I always hoped...”

  John tensed as their age-old argument resurfaced. “Let’s just get through this season before you make any decisions, okay?”

  The weathered man met his uneasy gaze and nodded. “I’m glad you’re home, John. You always did step up when someone needed you.”

  “I HAVE A SURPRISE FOR you,” Heather sang as she opened her daughter’s window shades, spilling soft winter sunshine into the room.

  “Ugh, it’s Saturday,” Hailey groaned, covering her head with blankets.

  “Yes, but it’s the first Saturday in December, and that means the start of the holiday season at Gridley Meadows Farm. Our tradition, remember?”

  Hailey struggled to a sitting position and rubbed her sleepy eyes. “They have animals this year. Can we go?”

  Heather sat on the edge of the bed. “We can. It’s a beautiful day, but it’s cold. Dress warm.”

  Forty-five minutes later they were in the car, headed for one of their all-time favorite places and events.

  “I’m going through the drive-thru to get coffee. Do you want some OJ or chocolate milk?” Heather asked her still-sluggish daughter.

  “Do you have to stop? We need to get there. All the good trees will be gone.”

  “Sweetie, there are thousands of trees at the farm. They won’t run out just because I stop for coffee.”

  “But we need to find the perfect one. Especially now that Snowball is missing.”

  “Hailey...Mom needs coffee
to wake up, otherwise I won’t be able to see the trees.”

  “Fine. I don’t want anything.”

  It was a four-year-old tradition for them, getting their Christmas tree from the locally owned farm just outside of Dickens. The start of their mother-daughter countdown to Christmas.

  “Oh, wow, look at the line,” Heather exclaimed a short time later as they approached the entrance.

  “What do you mean? We can still go, right?”

  “Don’t worry. Let me see if I can sneak around to where the workers park. We need to be near the back entrance of the store anyway to deliver these books.”

  Sure enough, there was a tight spot behind the barn.

  “Yes,” Hailey exclaimed when Heather slipped in with her little car and shut off the engine.

  Together they loaded the boxes of books onto a handcart and started for the building.

  Just as Heather reached the back door, it thrust open, popping the lid on her coffee cup, and spilling the full contents all over the front of her jacket. “Whoa,” she cried, stunned to be soaked and steaming in the frosty morning air.

  “Mom!”

  “Sorry, I didn’t see you,” a deep masculine voice shocked Heather further. “Let me help.”

  Suddenly, there were big man hands in work gloves, swiping at her clothes and patting down her chest. Coffee droplets splattered her face. “I’m fine. Really. It’s okay. Stop,” she yelled, swatting the stranger’s hands away.

  Her gaze rose to assess the coffee-dumping culprit. Six foot something of hulking man. Dark hair, beard, wearing a red Gridley Meadows Farm sweatshirt with a black scarf.

  Heather’s mouth opened and closed. Nothing, not even a breath, squeaked out as she gaped at him. The guy was drop-dead gorgeous. Strong features sharpened by concern. His eyes? Dark grey, like an impending snowstorm.

  Hailey tugged her sleeve and Heather’s gaze dropped to her anxious daughter. “What are we gonna do now? You’re all wet.”