“What is your point, Mr. Samuels?” Kate interrupted, a scowl creasing her lips.
“My point, Mrs. Walters, is that thanks to you, we do not have the money to spend on finding out whether or not the animal is a legitimate danger. Thanks to you, our best bet will be to either shoot it or have it shipped to one of the local zoos. Isn’t that right, Mr. Rushing?”
“I hardly think we can blame Mrs. Walters for the economy,” one of the other selectmen replied before Rushing could speak. A cutting glare from Samuels quickly silenced him.
“Like it or not,” Samuels said, “responsibility for a town’s resources ultimately falls to the manager. After all, it was Mrs. Walters who pushed to trim the budget, and by so doing, cut the number of city staff in half.”
“Only after we all agreed it was necessary,” another selectman said. “And that’s beside the point anyway. What we’re deciding tonight is what’s best for this one animal, not the entire wildlife population of Maine.”
The wildlife population of Maine.
Those words lodged in Logan’s brain, blocking out the ensuing argument between Samuels, Rushing, and the other selectmen. For years, local wildlife had been Miranda’s only concern. It was why she’d left her job at the zoological park and transferred to the university…why she’d insisted they settle in Bethlehem…
“It was wildlife habitats.”
Stirring resulted around him, and Logan realized he’d spoken aloud. He met a few embarrassed gazes then turned his eyes toward the front, and Leesa. She was looking at him, her beautiful face bunched and worried. This time, he didn’t glance away.
He stood. “Um…could I say something?”
Kate’s back was still turned. Leesa motioned to get her attention then pointed at Logan. When at last the room fell silent, Kate beckoned him forward.
“Mr. Franks, I’m glad you could be here tonight.”
She looked anything but glad—more like apologetic. Logan managed a reassuring nod before turning to address the audience.
“Before I start, let me just say that I am truly sorry. My wife studied animals her whole life. I think I can safely say she would have been pretty upset with me right about now.”
A few people offered awkward chuckles. He paused to clear his throat against a sudden rush of emotion. From the corner of his eye, he saw Leesa give a nod. Bolstered by her silent encouragement, he continued.
“Miranda spent the last few years of her life studying wildlife habitats. She also taught, because she wanted to share her passion with others. I forgot that for a while. After she died…well…I pretty much forgot everything she stood for. Until a couple of weeks ago.”
He directed his attention to Leesa. “I told someone recently that I was wrong to have turned my farm into a petting zoo. I meant that.”
Despite the tears that rose to her eyes, Logan forged on. “It should have been a wildlife habitat.”
Murmuring started around him again. He ignored it and took a couple of steps toward Leesa.
“I’m sorry.” He lowered his voice. What he said now was only for her anyway. “I was stupid and angry, and I turned it on you, when really, I was only upset with myself.”
She started to speak, caught herself, then dropped her gaze. “Logan—”
He shook his head. “I was wrong, Leesa. Wrong to forget everything Miranda worked for, to shut myself off for so long, but most off all”—he closed the last small gap between them and took her hand—“I was wrong to have blamed you for trying to make me see what was right in front of my face.”
Amazingly, she didn’t tug away, but instead squeezed back. “I was wrong, too, Logan. We both were. I should have warned you.”
Later. They could talk that out later. Right now…
He turned to Kate, who was looking a bit desperate as she was bombarded by questions from both the selectmen and the audience. Rushing was talking, too, though it was doubtful he could be heard above the noise.
Logan lifted his hand. “Please, everyone, if I could have your attention for just a moment longer.”
Gradually, the talk simmered down, and Logan seized the opportunity. “I realize I don’t have nearly the knowledge that my wife had regarding wildlife habitats, but I think the local authorities might be willing to work with me.” He directed a questioning look at Rushing, who nodded for him to continue.
Kate frowned. “I don’t understand, Logan. Are you saying you would be willing to fund a wildlife refuge right here in Bethlehem?”
A slow smile spread over his face. Why hadn’t he thought of it sooner? It was what Miranda would have wanted, and with Leesa’s expertise—
He glanced at her. After all they’d been through, would she be willing to help? “We’ll need a vet,” he said quietly. “Someone to help run things—”
“Of course,” she said before he could finish.
Joy sparkled from her gaze, flooding Logan’s heart with gratitude…and something else. Something deeper.
He blew out a breath and looked back at Kate. “Obviously, it will take some time to work out the details. I’ll have to contact the authorities—”
“I can help with that,” Rushing said, rising.
Logan nodded his thanks. “The main thing will be putting off a decision about the wolf until we can finalize the details.”
“Which should not be a problem, seeing as how he hasn’t been a threat before, or since,” Kate replied firmly.
Samuels slapped his palm on the table. “Now wait just a minute,” he said, but Kate quickly drowned him out. This was followed by excited chatter about the idea of a wildlife refuge in the community.
No wonder Samuels didn’t like her. She was one tough lady, and she definitely could handle any argument he dished out, especially now that public opinion seemed to have swung in her favor.
Giving Leesa’s hand a gentle squeeze, Logan led her through the town hall and outside. A decorative awning protected them from the falling snow, which had intensified since he’d arrived, but it did nothing to cut the chill. He shrugged out of his coat and draped it gently over her shoulders.
“Thanks,” she said, still shivering.
“Thank you.” He jammed his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “You could’ve blasted me in there, and I wouldn’t have blamed you a bit.”
Her lashes swept down, hiding her eyes when all he wanted was to gaze into them. She bit her lip and then, finally, looked up at him. “Did you mean what you said in there about needing a vet?”
“I did.” He shrugged. “I admit, it’s a crazy scheme, and it only just now came to me. I have no idea how much will be involved—the laws, the funding—it’ll be a massive undertaking.”
“Miranda would’ve approved.” She smiled. “Much better than a petting zoo.” Gradually, her smile faded, replaced by lines of worry. “I meant what I said in there. I’m so sorry for everything that happened, Logan.”
Logan’s heart hitched inside his chest. Reaching out, he grabbed the edges of his jacket and pulled them gently around her, snuggling her inside. “You know, I asked myself once why it was you who came to my door to ask me to be part of the nativity.”
“You did?”
He heard the waver in her voice and felt her trembling breath against his cheek. He nodded. “Now I know.”
“The habitat.”
“No, it was more than that.” His mouth went dry as she tipped her head back until their eyes locked. Mustering his courage, he ground out the words that had been clamoring for release since the first time he laid eyes on her back at the farm. “It had to be someone who could shake me from my shell. Someone like you, with enough passion and spirit to challenge me and remind me what it felt like to live. Someone…I could love.”
She said nothing for a moment, only stared at him with a look of shocked disbelief that made his heart pound. Then, she blinked. “D–did you say. .?”
It was now or never. Before she could finish, he cupped his hands to her cheeks, dip
ped his head, and kissed her. At first, she remained perfectly still, her mouth rigid beneath his, but then she was kissing him back, and Logan forgot everything and everyone but the beautiful woman in his arms. When finally he pulled away, she remained cradled in his embrace, her eyes closed and her breath coming in soft little gasps that only made him want to kiss her again.
“Leesa?” he whispered, pressing his lips to her forehead. “Did you—?”
“I love you, too,” she said, cutting him off before he could ask if she’d heard. Her eyes drifted open. “I think I always have, though I was too afraid to admit it.”
“Afraid?” Logan loosened his hold enough to peer into her face, where he saw an old pain reflected.
Of course.
“Because of your sister.”
She nodded.
“And Rafe.” Just speaking his name made Logan’s muscles tense, but she quickly dispelled his unease with a shake of her head.
“Rafe was a mistake Emily and I both made. What I felt for him is nothing compared to what I feel for you.”
And yet…he sensed a hesitation in her gaze, unresolved conflict that needed to be addressed before either of them could move forward.
“You need to talk to her,” Logan said softly. “Make things right while you still can.”
Tears filled her eyes, but she nodded.
“Do you want me to go with you?” He could be there for her, just as she had been for him, tonight.
“I…” She licked her lips and then shook her head. “I don’t think so. I think this is something I need to do alone.”
He understood, but a part of him ached for the agony she would face. He did kiss her then, only this time he poured as much love, as much encouragement and support as he could marshal, into one gentle touch.
It would have to be enough.
Chapter 12
Leesa squeezed her car into the only parking spot she could find—a narrow slot two streets away from the Bethlehem Community Church. Jerking the rearview mirror toward her, she did one last check before exiting the car and hurrying up the sidewalk.
She was late. Logan was probably pacing the hall. Her heart thumped. She hadn’t stopped thinking about him since he’d kissed her. In fact, it was his kiss that had driven her to return to Bangor…
She pushed through the door to the church and was immediately assaulted by noise.
“We can’t wait any longer! We need to get everyone moving.”
“We can’t move! We’re one shepherd short.”
She rose up on her tiptoes. “Here I am!”
“Leesa!” Kate Walters hurried over to her. “Thank goodness.” She eyed her costume critically, gave a satisfied nod, then shoved a staff into Leesa’s hand and pointed her in the direction of the hall. “That way. Logan and the others are waiting.”
Hitching her robe and staff in one hand and holding her headpiece in place with the other, Leesa wove through the throng until she reached the less-crowded hall. Betty, already sweating in her heavy innkeeper’s garb, reached her first.
“There you are.” She grabbed her arm and dragged her forward. “Where have you been? We missed you at practice last night.”
“I was in Bangor.” Together, the two of them pressed farther up the hall.
“Bangor! What in heaven’s name were you doing there?”
“Looking up my sister. We had a lot to discuss.”
“Leesa!” John joined her and Betty in the hall. “Thank goodness. Logan’s outside. I told him I’d holler if I saw you. Where’ve you been?”
“She was in Bangor,” Betty said.
“Bangor.” John lifted an eyebrow. “Everything okay?”
Leesa blew out a sigh. “Never mind. I’ll explain later.” Holding her staff high, she used it like Moses to part the sea of costumed nativity actors. Finally, she burst through the rear door of the church into the night air, John and Betty trailing in the wake of her robe. Logan waited near the corral, his back to them as he checked the animals.
“Logan, she’s here,” John called before Leesa could speak.
He turned, and her breath caught. Even in a shepherd’s costume, the man was gorgeous. He shot her a questioning look, which he cut quickly to John and Betty. “Are we ready?”
John nodded. “Kate is lining everyone up now.” He pointed. “Here come the wise men.”
Logan had worked extensively with the three men on handling the camels. For the most part, they would merely stand next to them with reins in hand, but it warmed Leesa’s heart to see the extra precautions he had taken. Two metal gates blocked the rear of the corral, and a shoulder-height wall of hay blocked younger children from climbing inside. Also—and this part shocked her most—Pete acted as lead handler. Sammy worked next to him, and the two of them looked quite cozy.
As they took their places, Leesa elbowed Logan in the ribs. She jerked her head toward Pete. “What’s he doing here?” she whispered.
“Came back early,” Logan whispered back. “Said his dad is doing better than expected. I’ll tell you about it later. How did it go?”
“I’ll tell you later.” She tried to look awestruck as they wound their way toward the makeshift stable near the back of the town green. Sheep were bleating, wise men followed the star, and next to the manger sat Mary holding Jesus, Joseph at her shoulder. It was a beautiful scene, really, and there, in the front row taking it all in…
She caught Logan’s gaze and gave a subtle gesture. His eyebrows lifted and he mouthed, “Is that…?”
“My sister. Long story,” she mouthed back.
Yet, how could she put into words the tearful pleas or heartfelt apologies? Who but God could explain the chasms crossed or wounds mended? Fresh tears rose to her eyes as she remembered the look of joy that had crossed her sister’s face upon seeing her. They still had much to work out, but with God’s grace, tonight was at least a start.
People wound past the stable, many commenting on the manager, the animals, the beautiful costumes. Several times, Leesa saw tears reflected in the eyes of the onlookers and felt her own eyes brim. Logan’s, too, she noted, as more than once he lifted his hand to brush across his face.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” she whispered.
“More than that, it feels…holy.”
His throat worked, and Leesa couldn’t help herself—she reached out and touched his fingers, curled so tightly around the shepherd’s staff that his knuckles shone white.
Holy.
It was a perfect description for the events leading up to this night, and a perfect description for what the nativity meant to her and the people she loved. It was holy, and tonight…this was indeed, one holy night.
THE LAST ANGEL SONG
By Lorraine Beatty
Chapter 1
Callen Grant shoved his hands deep into the pockets of his heavy coat, scanning the main street of the town. Bethlehem, Maine. Small town America. Population, 9,000. How could a place that small be known for having the quintessential live nativity in the whole of New England? And why was he here to cover it?
A quick inventory of the snow-lined street offered no surprises. Bakery. Bank. Veterinary clinic. Pharmacy. Dress shop. All the requisite retailers were present, complete with white-steepled church across the green.
Hunching his shoulders against a stiff breeze chasing down the street, he folded his collar up, seeking warmth. He could have been in Florida, with palm trees and sunshine and temps in the eighties. It should have been a no-brainer—take the reporting job in Clearwater. Instead, he’d delayed his decision and ended up here.
He set his jaw and started forward, his boots sloshing through the rapidly melting snow. Maybe if he could get rid of the headache that had plagued him all morning he could think clearly.
With his assignment as adventure/travel author for the Wilcox Communications Group at an end, his boss had offered him a temporary position at the Boston office and given him the task of writing a lifestyle piece on the Bet
hlehem nativity. He’d been promised a hard reporting job as soon as one opened up, but Callen wasn’t sure he wanted to remain with the company. He was looking for something more, and Wilcox had a habit of not keeping their promises.
He’d been offered the reporting job with a Florida paper, but it meant starting at the bottom, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to fight that battle again. So he’d come to the wilds of Maine and tacked on a few weeks of vacation, intending to use the time to sort out his future. Should he take the Florida job and work his way up, or stay with Wilcox and hope they found a job for him soon?
The door to Bloom’s Pharmacy opened as he reached for the handle. An elderly woman with a scarf wrapped around the collar of her bulky winter coat ambled out. He smiled. She stared and kept on going. Callen shrugged off the slight in favor of the warmth beckoning him inside.
The warmth quickly chased the chill from his shoulders and the familiar mixture of aromas eased his headache. Perfume. Medications. Candy. Magazines. The intriguing combination of smells that accompanied a drugstore.
Callen unbuttoned his coat as he scanned the directories hanging above each aisle. Spotting the sign for painkillers and cold remedies, he strolled toward the left, turning down the second aisle. He frowned at the vast assortment of choices. His peripheral vision picked up movement to his right, and he glanced at the woman coming toward him. He looked away, only to jerk his head around again and stare.
It couldn’t be. Why would she be in this small town? And what were the odds of finding her here, after all this time?
The woman looked past him until he turned to face her. It had to be her. He’d know those hazel eyes anywhere. The eyes that changed color with each outfit she wore. The eyes that had a tiny blue streak in the left and a spot of green in the right.
She met his gaze. The hazel eyes widened. He smiled. “Angie? Angie Silkowsky?”
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