When Snowflakes Never Cease (Crossroads Collection)

by Amanda Tru

  3. Financial equality—any man I date must not earn more than fifteen percent more than or less than I do.

  4. Priority compatibility—any man I date must take his career, health, personal growth, and spiritual life seriously.

  5. Family compatibility—any man I date must not have children or must have children who like and accept me.

  6. Time compatibility—any man I date must enjoy spending time in similar ways to me—being active, travel, cultural events, etc.

  7. Spiritual equality—any man I date must be a Christian who doesn’t make me feel like a spiritual idiot.

  She struck out number two. Hank was right. Her mother’s issue hadn’t been that of incompatible jobs. Her mother hadn’t had a job. It was an issue of contentedness. In a bold move, she struck out number three as well and rewrote it at the end.

  1. Intellectual equality—any man I date must not be significantly more or less intelligent than I am.

  2. Professional equality—any man I date must be in a professional field. I do not date men in service industries or manual labor jobs.

  3. Financial equality—any man I date must not earn more than fifteen percent more than or less than I do.

  4. Priority compatibility—any man I date must take his career, health, personal growth, and spiritual life seriously.

  5. Family compatibility—any man I date must not have children or must have children who like and accept me.

  6. Time compatibility—any man I date must enjoy spending time in similar ways to me—being active, travel, cultural events, etc.

  7. Spiritual equality—any man I date must be a Christian who doesn’t make me feel like a spiritual idiot.

  3. Financial equality—any man I date must not be intimidated or bothered by a disparity in our incomes/financial portfolios, and I must not be intimidated or bothered by his.

  That, of course, left the rest of them. Ronni threw a prayer of, “If this isn’t Your will, please show me” at them and snapped the journal shut. Lamp off, breathing slowed, eyes closed.

  Outside, the storm still raged, though Hank had insisted the snow had stopped around dark. “It always blows up here. Just part of winter in Juniper Springs,” he’d assured her.

  If you can call that assurance.

  For over thirty years, he’d done it—sat in bed with the Bible open before him. In the early years, he’d often fallen asleep sitting up, exhausted from a long day of physically demanding work. About the time that changed, glasses became necessary. Peg had usually climbed in beside him after doing some last-minute thing to ensure the house was ready for the next day—and after checking once more on the girls. She’d done that even after they’d left home.

  Now he did it alone… just him and the Lord. Miss that connectedness with someone who notices something I didn’t or even that I did at precisely the same time.

  He resisted it, but Hank’s thoughts shifted down the hall, through the garage, and to the door of Ma Meers’ apartment. Would Ronni be like that? Would she be eager to see a verse from a new perspective, or was Bible reading something to attack on her to-do list? Open the Word, charge through the verses, and emerge victorious on the other side. I was like that at first. Maybe it’s a new Christian thing.

  He’d just escorted Mary and Joseph to Bethlehem when soft sounds reached him. An animal outside? A glance at Piston asleep on Peg’s pillow hinted that wasn’t it. Piston didn’t put up with wandering critters on her property. Anytime she heard anything unusual, she rose up, batted his head, and settled into the pillow again. She hadn’t even twitched an ear.

  “Well, that probably means it isn’t Ronni, either. You didn’t seem to take much to her…”

  Another soft, whomp! did it for him. He threw back the covers, slipped his gripper socks onto his feet, and tried not to “pad” down the hallway like a little old man. His girls said he did that… “padded.” It didn’t sound manly enough to him, so he made a note of not bothering to be quiet… even in gripper socks.

  A light on in the kitchen told him he either had an intruder or Ronni had gotten the munchies. Arriving to the sight of her backside sticking out of the fridge told him he’d been right. “Hungry?”

  Her head connected with the fridge shelf, and a yelp followed. “Ow!”

  “Sorry.”

  She emerged without a hair out of place… until she rubbed it. Something about that little patch of tousled hair among the sleek strands spilling down her back gave her extra appeal. Almost as if that little mussedness made her more approachable or something.

  “Well, we’re even now.” She held out a hand and showed a tiny smear of blood. “We both drew blood on head wounds, although you were more dramatic on yours…”

  “Didn’t know it was a contest, but I’d say I won if blood loss is the determining factor.” As he spoke, she pulled out butter and a carton of eggs. “Making an early breakfast at…” Hank glanced at the stove clock. “Eleven o’clock?”

  “Couldn’t sleep. So, I thought maybe Christmas cookies were in order. I’m not much of a baker, but I do know a good sugar cookie recipe, and you’ve got enough powdered sugar for me to make dozens.”

  His attention stood and saluted that idea. “Dozens? Like how many dozens?”

  She eyed him. “Ready to make me earn my supper?”

  It wasn’t quite flirting, but he’d take what he could get… and later, he’d figure out why he was so keen to get it in the first place. Because even an idiot can’t see why. You’re an old fool, and you’re not even fifty-five yet.

  “Hank?”

  “I was thinking about the folks at the airport. If we had enough to work with, we could make a few tins of cookies to take down there. There were kids on that plane who oughtta have a few cookies on Christmas.”

  After staring at him for a moment, a moment he feared would end in another bloodied nose, she snapped to it. “Bowls. I need three big bowls—no, four. We’ll each make two double batches.”

  The kitchen closed in on him. “Double batches?”

  Ronni turned to face him, one hand planted on a hip, her eyes narrowed. “You are seriously underestimating the appeal of my cookies. Get the bowls.”

  The cookie making mess came to a standstill when she couldn’t find cream of tartar. Hank broke in on her mutterings about the worthlessness of kitchens without it asking, “What do you need that for?”

  “No clue. It’s just one of the ingredients.” She began ticking them off each finger. “Flour, powdered sugar, cream of tartar, baking soda—”

  That told him. “Just substitute equal amounts of baking powder for the tartar and soda. It’ll work the same.”

  “What if it doesn’t taste right?”

  “It will.”

  Her dubious look told him she wasn’t satisfied, but since they had no other option, she dumped baking powder in each dry bowl. A smaller bowl each held eggs, butter, and flavorings. While he mixed each subsequent batch together, she rolled out dough between pieces of waxed paper. Hank didn’t understand that at all. “Why’re you rolling them out before you chill that dough. Peg always—”

  “Well, Peg was probably a fine cook, but I’m an efficient one. I don’t have time to wait around for balls of dough to get chilled all the way through only to heat them up again and try to roll out that stuff. I roll while it’s soft, then chill. Saves chilling time and rolling frustration.”

  Made sense, too. “Well, aren’t you a wonder.”

  He couldn’t be certain, but Hank could have sworn she muttered something akin to, “You would be the one to say something like that.”

  If that was right, well… “I suppose you’ll need cookie cutters, then? Sprinkles and things?”

  She whirled on him. “You have them?”

  “Peg was into baking. She has… well, here…” Hank dug up on the top shelf of the pantry and pulled down the large, clear, plastic bin of cookie doo-dads. Plopping it on the sliver of counter left after Ronni’d taken over, he eyed
her. “Will that work?”

  She came at him, rolling pin in hand. It took everything Hank had not to wince. A moment later, it whacked his chest just a bit, and she muttered, “Finish rolling that, will you? I need to see…”

  By the squeaks and “ooohs” emanating from her, Hank surmised he’d managed to delight her. “Goodie bags!”

  “That’s good?”

  She waved them at him. “Looks like they were for Valentine’s Day, but if you have some green ribbon, no one will even notice.”

  “We need these things, why?” That’s when he saw the career woman return. She had a project and had determined to see it through. If he only understood what “it” was.

  “Christmas gifts. We can put three cookies to a bag, and at least it’ll seem like a holiday. Ronni turned back to the pantry. “What else do you have in there?” Another squeal brought her out with Peg’s gallon jar of Ghirardelli’s chocolate powder. “Hot chocolate mixes. Do you happen to have canning jars?” She winced as she added, “Maybe small ones?”

  Had he moved them out to the shed, or were they still over the rafters in the garage? He didn’t recall. “Somewhere—jelly ones. She used them for her little crafty things. Candy containers and stuff.”

  “I love your Peg. Okay, know where they are?”

  He’d have to wait until she went to sleep to dig them out of the shed, or she’d follow him out there. Yeah… he’d have to wait to get them, but he would. “Can it wait until morning? We have enough to do tonight, don’t we?”

  At that moment, two things happened. First, she yawned and went from professional on a mission to little girl too tuckered out to get herself to bed after a party, and she realized what she’d done. “I made a mess…”

  Maybe it wasn’t the done thing. Actually, Hank was reasonably certain it wasn’t. Still, he put an arm around her shoulder and led her from the kitchen to the garage door. “C’mon. Let’s get you to bed. I’ll get this put away, and we’ll bake after breakfast. I’ll even make a casserole so that the oven’s already hot.”

  “Need to bake, though.”

  Well, that’s what he thought she said. Through the yawn, it could have been, “Cream the fake doll,” but that didn’t make much sense. Still, she let him lead her, barely shivered as he pushed her through the cold garage, and God and Peg forgive him, she didn’t even wince when he kissed her temple and shoved her through the door to the apartment. He didn’t even realize he’d done it until he saw the box with the jars resting on the edge of the plywood covered rafters over his truck bed.

  I might be somewhat attracted to her. Won’t pretend I’m not. But that was just instinct right there. I’d have done it to anyone without even realizing I did. He even managed to convince himself that he only noticed because of that attraction thing. Almost.

  She was three sheets to the oven when Ronni realized her mistake. After all that work, she hadn’t even used up one of the batches of cookie dough. Hank stood at the breakfast bar, fearlessly spooning green sugar onto cutout Christmas trees, white sugar onto snowmen, and red sugar onto poinsettias. At the speed of a snail on methamphetamines, no less.

  If she wasn’t confident that he would eat every cookie left in the house, she’d take her time and just have enough for everyone at the airport to have one or two. Ronni knew better. He’d already snitched two straight from the oven—not to mention a ball of cookie dough—raw eggs and all. Gag.

  Still, the man hummed—hummed!—while he decorated those cookies within a centimeter of their existence. Or less. Sugar spilled over the edge of a snowman. Definitely less.

  Desperate, Ronni excused herself and dashed to the bathroom with her phone. There, thanks to the beauty of Wi-Fi, she found just what she needed. She bolted from the room at a run. “Do we have more butter?”

  “I’ve got a few pounds in the freezer, why? Are we making more dough?”

  She had to give him credit. Not only did he not refuse, he included himself in the “we” thing. “No… we’re saving decorating time. I need you to finish that cookie sheet and then come cut out some that won’t get decorated yet.”

  “Oh, frosting. Right. I forgot that kind.”

  Ronni shook her head. “Nope, we’re going to dip some… in chocolate. Those halfsie things you see at the store sometimes? We’re doing that. It’ll be perfect.”

  She could tell he had no idea why anything would be perfect, but Hank sped up his movements to that of a sleepy turtle. He’d finished a holly leaf with red berries before he spoke again. “I think you ought to know something.”

  If you tell me you’re already getting sick from that cookie dough, I’ll send you to an early grave right here and now. Ronni decided that saying as much to the man who had given you respite from airport fever might be considered rude, so instead, she just asked, “What’s that?”

  “You’ll not like to hear it, but I feel dishonest keeping it from you…”

  “If you tell me you’re a convicted murderer, I’ll bean you with the jar of chocolate.”

  He snickered and leaned forward, his eyes shining at her and laughter etched in the few lines around his eyes. “Nothing illegal like that…”

  Did he swallow hard? Ronni thought maybe he did. Uh, oh.

  “I’m finding myself attracted to you—more and more all the time.” Hank dropped his gaze and began to work on another snowman. “I know I don’t fit anything on that list of yours, but I couldn’t pretend it wasn’t so. You’re a smart woman. You’d have figured it out pretty soon.”

  You’re a smart guy. How long will it take you to figure out I’m hiding it myself? One part of her said to enjoy a little vacation-like romance. Who would know or care? I’ll be leaving soon. Doubt I’ll ever see him again. What would it hurt?

  “I’m not expecting any kind of reciprocation or even response, Ronni. Just felt like I was hiding something about you that you had the right to know.”

  Ronni plopped her bowl of chocolate mixture into a pan of boiling water and began stirring. She’d have to make her apologies and move along. Just as she opened her mouth to tell him she was flattered but right—he didn’t fit anything on her list—a question came out instead. “I thought it wouldn’t be wise to enter a relationship with someone significantly farther ahead in a spiritual journey than I am—not good for either of us,” she added as an afterthought. After all, shouldn’t Christians be there to help each other with faith? Surely, she’d read that somewhere. “But is there anything in the Bible that says that? What do you think? Am I thinking clearly?”

  Dinky sugar spoons never did much to compensate for thick, clumsy fingers, but Hank always tried his best—for Peg. This time, however, he tried his best for someone else, and it unnerved him. Yeah. Enough to tell her I was attracted to her? What was I thinking? She’s a guest! Almost a prisoner here unless we can get her back to the airport.

  That might be a smidge melodramatic… maybe. Perspiration beaded on his upper lip. His gut clenched. When she didn’t respond, he decided to give them both an out. “I’m not expecting any kind of reciprocation or even response, Ronni. Just felt like I was hiding something about you that you had the right to know.”

  That didn’t help. His gut clenched tighter. Get it together. You just admitted simple attraction. It’s not like you said you loved her or something equally pathetic and ridiculous!

  So, if it was no big deal, why did he keep holding his breath, waiting for a response?

  Her lips moved. Words emerged. Hank listened, jaw agape until she ended with, “Am I thinking clearly?”

  I tell you that I’m attracted to you, and your first response is to ask if it’s a bad idea for couples to be at vastly different places in their spiritual growth.

  Hope welled up in him, pathetic as it might be. For reasons he hadn’t explored yet, Ronni intrigued him, and he wanted to know her better. To spend time with her. An impatient huff escaped, but a glance her way told him she hadn’t heard it. You don’t know anything about her�
�not really. And she lives almost four hundred miles away!

  “Hank?”

  “This isn’t a Bible answer,” he began as he passed the cookie sheet to her. “I’m just telling you what I think because the Bible doesn’t actually answer that. It only requires that we limit our marriages to other Christians.”

  There she met his gaze and held it before turning to swap cookie trays in the oven. “Okay.”

  “I think it depends on the personalities of the people, of course. Some people just can’t keep from dumping all their knowledge on others until they drown that other person in information. But in my experience, mature Christians have a lot to share with new Christians. They also need new Christians to help renew their zeal.”

  Ronni froze at that one. Still holding the cookie sheet, she stared at him. “What do you mean by that?”

  He might regret answering, but Hank tried anyway. “Only that sometimes we become a bit…” The word he needed eluded him. “What’s that word for doing stuff over and over automatically—like for math problems.”

  “Rote.”

  “Yes!” Heat prickled his neck as she shot him a look. “Just like that. Our faith and living it can become rote after time. We need baby Christians to help us reinfuse delight into our lives—just like babies do.”

  The tray of cookies passed under his nose, and Hank caught a whiff. They’d been working for almost two hours, and it was the first time he’d actually smelled them. Eyes closed, he inhaled and sighed. “Christmas should always smell like this. I’ll have to remember to make cookies, even if it’s an off-year.”

  “I bet you could spend your holidays with one of your girls and their in-laws. I know a woman from church who does that now that her husband is gone.”

  How could he tell her that they hadn’t offered, and he’d never ask? Besides, if I ever do meet someone, maybe we’ll like having those off years just for us.

  If he met someone. That obviously wasn’t the question. He had. He just didn’t know her well enough to know if that could ever be more than a racing pulse and fascination with someone who irritated and intrigued him. I may find out she’s duller than dishwater and not half as useful.