“Not selfish. Just sad. Because it doesn’t have to be that way.”
“What books are you reading? You sound like Dad.”
“I am his offspring.”
“I’ll take your advice into account,” I said, feeling irritated, but knowing I shouldn’t be. “And if you eat any more of those cookies in the car, I’ll snitch on you. Although they’re probably still completely frozen in a frigid car.”
As we pulled into the church parking lot the new billboard read: Church Parking Only: Violators will be Baptized.
“Too late,” I muttered as I set the brake. “Here goes nothing.”
“You nervous?” Sam asked, picking up the plate and eyeing it.
“No, why should I be?”
“Pastor Dude standing by the door.”
My stomach lurched. “I’m not nervous at all,” I said, snapping open the door latch. “Just surprised.”
As we approached the side door, James Douglas was shoveling snow, scraping underneath where it had iced up.
“How about some frozen cookies to go with your frozen sidewalk?” I said brightly, ignoring the peculiar fluttering in my chest. I would not be overwhelmed by this guy. He was a stranger. He meant nothing.
James stopped, leaning on his shovel when he caught sight of us across the parking lot. Those blue eyes zinged me and a can of imaginary soda seemed to fizz right up my stomach. Darn him anyway!
“I’d love some,” he said in that deep voice.
“Well,” I amended. “They’re really for Pastor John. From my mom. You know.”
“Ah, I see.”
I could tell he was trying not to smile. I widened my eyes into a glare. “No need to laugh at me. I’m just an obedient daughter.”
“I wasn’t laughing, and I’m sure you are a very obedient daughter.”
He stated the opinion in a voice that told me just the opposite. “Then you’re amused.”
He nodded thoughtfully. “Maybe you’re right. But in a totally good way.”
I tried not to blush. “Your vocabulary sounds like you just arrived from California.”
“I went to high school in Northern California. I guess it still shows at times.”
Now it was my turn to be amused. “California, huh?”
“Alright. Enough with the grinning,” he shot back, smiling broadly. “Don’t hold it against me. I did med school at Stanford. Better?”
Behind James’ back, my brother shot me a stupid grin and gave me a peace sign.
I shut my eyes for a moment, trying not to laugh.
“Um, yeah. Anyway, where’s Pastor John?”
“He’s not here right now. His flock called.” James Douglas pulled back the plastic wrap. “Mind if I try one? I’m starving from all this hard work.”
“Be my guest.”
All at once both James and Sam were munching on my mother’s famous chewy chocolate chip cookies.
“Sam! Those are not for you!”
“I can’t help it.”
“You told me yourself that Mom has two dozen more plates at home.”
“That’s impressive,” James said. “Say, do you think I could get my very own plate?”
“Uh, okay. Sure.” I gave a little laugh. I’d never had anybody just come right out and ask for cookies. I kind of liked his open honesty.
“Can you bring them tomorrow? About evening? At the town square?”
This time I laughed out loud. “What are you talking about?”
“We’ll have cookies with our hot chocolate. It’s the reading of ‘Twas the Night before Christmas.”
“Oh, right. I think my sister is bringing my nieces.”
“Perfect, then. It won’t be out of your way at all.” He smiled again and popped the rest of the cookie in his mouth.
This guy sure liked to push his luck. I let out my breath, watching the masculine line of his throat as he swallowed the cookie. To cover up my staring, I started to chatter. “So, wow, I forgot about all these daily Christmas festivities. My favorite was the Polar Express when I was six. When I got older I loved the fireworks and the sleigh rides—and then when I was in high school I was so excited to finally get to attend the Christmas Ball with—” I stopped, aware that I was about to say Michael’s name. Again. I must be annoying people by always bringing him up in the conversation. The sudden realization floored me.
“Sounds like we’ll have a second chance at hot chocolate on Saturday then,” James said smoothly, covering over my faux pas.
“What are you talking about” I blinked, trying not to show my discomfiture.
“The sleigh rides at the Winter Carnival. I’ve already got tickets. You can never drink too much hot chocolate in December.”
“You mean you want me to go with you on a sleigh ride, too?”
My brother burst out with a laugh. “You are so dense, Jess.”
“Well, a girl can’t make assumptions about invitations.”
Good grief, I sounded just like an uptight school marm now.
James Douglas leaned against his shovel, staring right into my eyes. “Nope, you can’t. But I’ll try to be very clear. I’ll see you at the town square tomorrow, Jessica Mason.”
“Right. I’ll be the adored aunt with two little girls in tow.”
I could see Sam holding back a snort as James Douglas flirted with me.
And . . . I guess I was kind of—sort of—flirting back.
Chapter Nine
THE NEXT NIGHT I WAS HURRIEDLY doing the dishes with Mom while Amber and Joanie were jumping around our feet on the kitchen floor, anxious to go hear ‘Twas the Night before Christmas.
“We’re going, we’re going,” I said.
“Hurry and get your coats, Amber and Joanie,” Mom told them. “Dress warm!” She poured dishwasher soap and started the machine’s cycle, then turned to me as I was drying my hands.
“My car is first out the driveway,” I said. “I’ll drive if you’d like.”
“We’d have to move the car seats from Catherine’s van. Let’s just take hers,” Mom said. “Besides, a little bird told me you’re meeting James Douglas at the town square.”
I felt indignant. “Who told you that! Oh, wait. Sam, right? Of course.”
“You can’t keep secrets in this family,” Mom said with a sweet smile.
“That’s not always a good thing,” I told her drily.
She lowered her voice, almost whispering as she looked furtively about the entry hall as we grabbed our coats and hats off the rack. “You want to be available in case he’d like to drive you home afterward.”
I made a noise of aggravation in my throat. “I swear, Mom, you say lines like an actress from a 1940s movie.”
“Well, those were very good movie years. Not that I was alive, mind you.”
“Boys, I mean, men—guys—and girls, do not play hard to get anymore. We’re more open and honest.”
She lifted an eyebrow, letting me know she didn’t believe that a bit. “I’ll keep that in mind, but the male and female species are not much different now than they were through the history of time. I did a paper on that in college—”
I cut her off. “My mother, the history major. Can we just go already?”
Within minutes we were passing the church again. I was sitting in the back seat of Catherine’s van squished next to two car seats. Mom was in the front passenger seat. Sam had managed to find a ride with a friend and had disappeared like a ghost behind a camera lens.
I cursed myself for not taking my own car. I’d given up my potential freedom. Coming with my family meant staying until they wanted to leave.
Dad was one of Santa’s “helpers” tonight. As the town dentist he volunteered for a lot of charity work, my mother, too. Which kept them busy and off my back during much of the year except for our weekly phone calls. Tomorrow was the biggie. The hospital fundraiser. I planned to stay home under an afghan with a stack of movies and the television remote.
Of course, eve
ry time we had to go into town or up or down Main, we passed the church. Tonight the sign read:
Prayer: Wireless Connection to God with no Roaming Fees.
Mom turned around in her seat, the street lights glowing off her face. “I was just thinking that the church sign is so apropos, Jessica,” she murmured. We all need God in our life.”
“How do you know what I need?” I practically snapped. I turned my head to the window without another word. Thank goodness we were at the town square and Catherine and Mom focused on finding a parking spot. Finally, we’d exited from the car and Amber and Joanie took my hands, one on each side. Maybe they knew I didn’t want to be alone with my mother. Or James Douglas.
Maybe they sensed that I was afraid.
The square was crowded—what was so compelling about a story and hot chocolate? In the freezing cold, no less?
Despite ordering myself not to scan the clusters of people, I couldn’t help wondering when or where I’d see Pastor John’s nephew. I shouldn’t have worried. Instantly, he was there, bearing hot chocolate for the whole family.
Like a homing pigeon.
I pursed my lips as I looked up into his face. His smile was mellow tonight.
“I’m surprised you have time for this,” I told him, burning my lips when I took a gulp of the hot cocoa. “Damn—I mean dang.” Now I couldn’t feel my tongue.
He raised his eyebrows, and then grinned.
I glared at him, as though daring him to make something of it.
“I already helped the committee set up for the Bake Sale and Gingerbread House contest. They’re ready for tomorrow. Did you enter something?”
“Is that a serious question?”
He laughed. “I guess not. You don’t look like the baking type.”
“Actually, I do make a mean chocolate chip cookie. My mom taught me all her secrets, as you got to sample yesterday—and yeah, they’re pretty—”
“Spectacular,” we both said at the same time.
“Please tell me we did not just do that,” I growled.
James Douglas didn’t miss a beat. “We didn’t. You’re safe.”
“Thank God. I mean, thank the Good Lord.” I smiled sweetly.
“You’re on one tonight,” he observed, sipping from his Styrofoam cup while gazing at my face with his deep blue eyes. “So sweet . . . and so sassy,” he murmured.
“I heard that,” I said, one hand on my hip.
“I meant for you to hear that.”
I shivered, and knew it wasn’t just from the twenty-three degree temperature.
Five Facts I Learned about James Douglas That Night.
He was a star wrestler in high school. (And had the shoulders to prove it.) An injury stopped his rise to stardom as All-Star when he was a senior.
He had a sweet tooth just like me. (Without knowing exactly how it happened, I suddenly owed him cinnamon rolls with cream cheese frosting on Saturday for the winter carnival sleigh ride.)
One of the reasons he quit medical school was squeamishness over the blood—and an answer to prayer.
His father had been in the Air Force and they moved a lot during his growing up years. He’d even spent a year during middle school outside New Orleans in Houma. (Suddenly we were comparing Louisiana stories about alligators in the backyard and beignets dripping with powdered sugar, and jazz bands.)
His mother taught him to play the piano. Like really well.
“I have the concerto version of Chopsticks in my repertoire.”
“That sounds like a parlor trick,” I’d told him. “I’d like to hear that sometime. During Sunday School. I dare you.”
“Maybe I’ll indulge your curiosity one of these Sabbath mornings.”
I’d shrugged as if I didn’t care. “If I ever go back.”
His face grew serious. “We have a community full of people who care about you,” he said quietly. “As much as you make fun of them, they love you and miss you. It’s a family.”
I couldn’t answer that, although I wanted to know why he thought he was such a smarty-pants and knew anything about me. Instead, I just bit my lip.
My family had taken off almost as soon as we arrived to get a good listening spot on the square, and I ended up alone with James. I had a sneaking suspicion my mother planned that.
So, James and I circled the square while we talked, missing Santa’s—I mean someone who looked an awfully lot like Doc Taggart—rendition of ‘Twas the Night Before Christmas, and drinking so much hot chocolate to stay warm. I was about to run screaming for a bathroom by the time the crowd broke up and headed to their cars.
Amber and Joanie ran up to us, shouting and laughing while my parents and Catherine ran right behind the girls to catch up to them. We said our goodbyes and James Douglas tipped his hat as I left with my nieces clinging to me. I refrained from looking back over my shoulder.
All the way home in the car, I stared out the window, thinking about his eyes, his kind voice, and the fact that he hadn’t made a single move on me—despite the definite attraction going on between us.
Chapter Ten
I SAW JAMES DOUGLAS FROM AFAR when I got roped into attending the Polar Express with Catherine and the girls. We passed him on the train ride as he sat next to some other girl. Someone who looked much too young for him.
A flash of jealousy went through me.
I tossed it off with a jerk of my head, gritting my teeth. Even if I was having moments of anger, we weren’t dating. We hardly knew each other. I had no claim on James Douglas. I didn’t want to claim him. We were undeniably too different.
Why would I entertain the notion of dating a man who wanted to be a pastor? All that scripture reading and spiritual piousness—after God had deserted me! And how could a pastor have a relationship with a ballerina living in New Orleans anyway?
It was ludicrous. It wouldn’t work past five minutes. The idea was completely delusional.
Except James Douglas was anything but *truly* pious. I’d always assumed people who wanted to be ministers were born with their nose in the New Testament, good works their only hobby, and giving sermons because they liked to hear themselves talk.
Maybe I had the wrong impression.
James Douglas teased me. Laughed at me. Grew up in the surf on the San Diego beaches. Cruised the French Quarter as a teenager looking for trouble . . . eerily similar to my Madame LeBlanc séance sessions. An Army brat. Half a doctor.
And funny. And gentle—but with an edge. Which I liked. Someone who could take what I dished out constantly—and give it right back.
With blue eyes I wanted to stare into for hours.
Michael never gave it back. Just took my sarcasm over and over again. Even when I pushed him mercilessly, he was mild mannered and sweet. Never saying a bad thing about anybody.
I shuddered, closing my eyes, the memories of that dark and icy night flashing through me like actual, physical hot pain. The flash of steel and lights and fire.
My eyes flew open and I sucked in a breath of cold air in an attempt to make the horrible images go away. Then I found myself staring at the retreating figure of James Douglas after the Polar Express ride had ended.
“Oh, go ahead and have your train ride chick,” I muttered, stomping off to get another round of cocoa with Catherine. “See what I care!”
“What did you just say?” Catherine asked, kissing her husband who had arrived that morning to spend Christmas week with us. Alan gathered Catherine up and they stood there smooching for a few minutes while Amber and Joanie begged their daddy to pick them up.
“Daddy, daddy!” they shouted.
I clapped my mouth shut. “Nothing,” I said to no one.
Then I turned away, not wanting to watch them kissing.
Not wanting to think about James Douglas’s lips on mine.
“Maybe I’ll cancel Saturday,” I said again. “Why do I want to slave in the kitchen making cinnamon rolls anyway?”
“Why are you talking to y
ourself?” my mother asked.
I whipped around, not realizing she had just walked up.
“Nothing. I mean—I wasn’t.” When in doubt, deny, deny, deny. That was my motto.
Mom’s eyes penetrated mine. “Everything okay, Jessica?”
“Everything is perfectly fine. Fine. Fine. Fine. I’m going home. It’s not my idea of a good time to watch Catherine and Alan making out.”
My mother rolled her eyes. “Oh, Jess. Give me a lift to the hospital, will you? I just learned that Olivia’s daughter gave birth last night—almost three months early. He didn’t survive. ”
“I’m so sorry, Mom.” Olivia was another one of my mother’s lifelong friends, and this would have been her first grandchild. They’d known each other since high school. Just like most of the girls I’d known. They were still living here, or close by. How could anyone stay in this small, stuffy town for their entire lives?
My mother took out a tissue, sniffing while her eyes welled up with tears. “I hate to intrude on their grief, but I have to do something. At least go by and tell them we’re praying for them.”
Silently, we got into my car. Tonight I’d had the presence of mind to take my own wheels. Plus, we hadn’t all fit in Catherine’s van with Alan now in town.
“Oh, what a Christmas,” my mother sighed as she settled back against the seat.
“What do you mean?”
“Oh, your dad’s office manager, Mrs. Gibbons, is sick with a bad case of strep throat. I’ll be over there next week helping him out. Thank goodness it’s a short week due to the holidays. Can’t believe Christmas Eve is less than a week away. Would you mind finishing up the gift wrapping and doing some baking?”
“Sure. I’ll make cinnamon rolls Saturday morning. I promised someone a dozen anyway. Well, maybe a half dozen,” I added with a smidgen of glee. “I’ll freeze some for Christmas morning breakfast.”
“Good idea.”
There were several long moments of silence. For once, my mother was quiet, not chattering away.
“What else is going on?” I asked her as I turned into the driveway of Snow Valley Community Hospital and pulled up to the drop-off curb where the wide glass doors showed the interior of the waiting room, the bank of elevators just beyond the couches.
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