Risking It All for Love (A Christmas in Snow Valley Romance) Page 7

  “The baby’s funeral will be on Tuesday, the 23rd.”

  I winced, and my throat closed up. The same day Michael’s funeral had been three years ago.

  “So hard to lose a child,” Mom murmured. “A life cut so short.”

  I wondered who she was thinking of. Olivia’s grandchild—or Michael’s parents? Both had lost a child now.

  “Mrs. Gibbons? Do you think she could eat some cinnamon rolls with strep?”

  “That’s a great idea, sweetheart. I’m sure she’d love them.”

  “I’ll drop off a plate on my way to the carnival.”

  I had no idea what made me say that, but Mrs. Gibbons had worked for my dad my entire life. She was an icon in that dentist office. “Better hurry now,” I said, not wanting to talk any longer. My mother’s words the previous night still stung. I’d been playing it cool with her all day. I wasn’t taking goodies because of her. I was doing it for Mrs. Gibbons, who was practically like a second grandmother to us kids, and always had a coloring book stashed under her desk when we showed up after school while Mom was at a meeting.

  After I showered and blow-dried my hair, I slipped into a pair of new jeans, thick socks, boots, and a new down coat—since the one I’d brought with me was made for fifty degree weather, not zero.

  Hurriedly, I put together three plates of cinnamon rolls. One for Mrs. Gibbons, one for our neighbors losing their house, and one for James. James Douglas that is. Pastor-in-training.

  My heart thumped harder after each of my deliveries. I pulled into the parking lot for the carnival and shut off my engine. James had called before I left the house to say he was going to pick me up, but I’d turned him down, citing my errands. Besides, it wasn’t a date. I didn’t need him to drive me.

  Hundreds of colorful lights glittered against the dark, winter sky. Rides spinning, a tilt-a-whirl with screaming passengers, a tall Ferris wheel rotating slowly, and a colorful carousel with bejeweled horses riding up and down. I caught a glimpse of Catherine and Alan standing next to Joanie and Amber who were riding purple and pink horses. The girls clapped their hands and giggled. I could practically hear them from the inside of my car.

  Carrying my plate wrapped in plastic and strands of green curling ribbon, I headed to the entrance, and sucked in a breath borne of nerves and a strange, eager anticipation when I spotted James Douglas waiting for me.

  He leaned against the fence railing, his legs stuck casually out in front of him, bare hands in his jeans’ pockets, his face with a two-day beard under the casual knit cap. Looking all rugged and too handsome for his own good. His slacks were gone. The overcoat and black hat was not in sight.

  I swallowed and strode toward him. “Didn’t think Pastors were allowed to wear regular people clothes.”

  “You’re not paying enough attention, then.”

  I blushed and stuck the plate of cinnamon rolls out. “Here. Eat them and get a stomach ache. I made them with twice the sugar just for you.”

  “Ah, that means they’re just as sweet as you.”

  Darn him. He never let me get one up on him. Ever.

  I made a face—just as he leaned forward—as though he was going to kiss me. I stepped back, thinking how impertinent he was, when he took a lock of my hair and frowned. Then his eye trailed down my arm to a small glob smeared along my wrist.

  “I spy a bit of frosting right here.” He stuck a finger in his mouth. “Hm. Homemade, even. I can tell the difference.”

  “So you’re a food connoisseur, huh?”

  “When it comes to cinnamon rolls, yes.” I forced myself not to smile in return. That just made him smile all the broader.

  I pulled my hand back when he took the plate and our fingers brushed. I ignored the rush of electricity. “Probably smeared some when I put together the plates and touched up the frosting. I was kind of in a hurry.”

  “Why?”

  I realized the implication of what I’d just said and hoped my face hadn’t turned a Christmas red. “I wasn’t hurrying here if that’s what you’re thinking. I had deliveries to make.”

  “So under the tough New Orleans façade, you are a Christian. Good to know.”

  I growled and gave him a shove off the fence railing.

  He flailed for only a moment, and then grabbed one of my hands in his, standing up and looking down at me. He was rock solid. Steady as an ox. Warm as a bonfire.

  I tried to tug my fingers away, but he didn’t let me. Just tucked my hand into the crook of his warm elbow and pulled me into the carnival.

  I nearly stumbled in surprise, but put on a nonchalant air. As if I didn’t care that his palm was enclosing my smaller hand in a protective gesture.

  His fingers were warm despite not having gloves on. A tiny blister on his wide palm, fingers there had clearly seen some hard work recently. “You don’t have office-type fingers,” I noted.

  “I helped install a fence today.”

  “So you practice what you preach?” There was more to this guy than school studies and reading scriptures.

  “Hey, let’s ride the Ferris wheel,” he suggested, as if he’d didn’t want to talk about the service projects he did for others.

  “It’s probably cold up there.”

  “Are you afraid of cold?”

  I shook my head. No, I thought. Just afraid of the body next to me. So close. Afraid of memories of past carnivals with Michael. Afraid of new memories, with a new guy.

  Chapter Twelve

  Before we boarded, James ordered two hot chocolates with lids and tiny straws to poke through the top.

  “Rain-check for our cocoa.”

  “You paid that up on Monday, remember?”

  “Monday was forever ago.”

  “You sound like a kid who can’t wait for Christmas morning.”

  “I am at that.” He squeezed my fingers as though I was his Christmas morning. Don’t do that, James Douglas. I’m not up for grabs. I’m taken, I thought.

  I jerked as though I’d been hit. What was I thinking? A hard realization hit me with a velocity that robbed my breath. I still thought of myself as belonging to Michael Grant. I’d spent three years thinking that very thing, but now it was starting to feel a little odd.

  “You’re not crazy,” James whispered as he leaned close, his lips brushing against my ear.

  “How do you know what I’m thinking—or feeling—or anything! You have no idea what I’ve been through.”

  James Douglas just nodded, his face solemn, his blue eyes penetrating my mind.

  “Stop that,” I ordered.

  “Stop what?”

  “You know what.”

  “Why do I get the feeling we’re talking to each other like we’re still in high school?”

  “Maybe you never grew up,” I retorted.

  He pursed his lips thoughtfully. “No, but I think you’re still stuck in your senior year.”

  “And you’re an impertinent know-it-all. When does this ride stop?”

  “It just started. First rotation just finished.”

  Feeling my temper rise, I tried to pull my hand away.

  James Douglas didn’t let me. He kept a firm grip, pulling me close. “I’m not going to let you jump out.”

  “I’m not that crazy!”

  “No, you’re not.”

  We didn’t speak for the rest of the ride, but I lifted my head when we spotted my brother, Sam sitting in one of the carriages just above us. With a girl. The same girl James had been with on Wednesday at the Polar Express train event. How strange was that?

  Sam and the girl waved at us, laughing, giggling, Sam’s arm around her shoulders. Was that—Lydia? Sam’s girlfriend?

  Breaking our silence as we got off the ride at last, James said, “She’s my younger sister.”

  “Are we talking about the same person? You mean Lydia is your sister?”

  “Yep, she’s a junior.”

  James pulled me along just as the line for a sleigh ride opened up. He
flagged down the attendant and in moments we were bundled into the sleigh, a lap rug covering us. “Hold on, Jessica,” he said, as our driver slapped the horses’ rumps with the reins.

  Just like that, we were gliding across the snow under the silver full moon.

  “I thought these rides had more than one couple in them. Like a double seat or something,” I said, sitting up straighter.

  “Nope. You’re stuck with me.”

  I sniffed. “Well. I could always jump out.”

  “Not if I tell the driver to go faster.”

  The horses’ hooves kicked up swirls of soft, fine snow. A cold wind whistled past my ears and I wanted to bury my head in James’ warm coat sleeve, but I braved the cold. Even if my nose was about to break off from frost bite.

  “Are you sure you know what you’re doing?” I cried as the driver spun us around the river’s edge.

  James threw me a big grin, all glittering white teeth and swoony handsomeness. “No, I don’t think he’s sure at all.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?” I asked as our silent driver, hunched over in his own coat and muffler, expertly maneuvered the sleigh through a thicket of fir trees, and finally slowed down a bit.

  “Just innuendoes.”

  “You’re good at that,” I observed.

  After cruising down a sloping hill, the horses were taken down to a walk.

  The pair of chestnut geldings knew the path and the driver sat back, the reins loose in his lap. I listened to the slush, slush of the snow beneath the sleigh. A million stars blanketed the fields, reminding me of tiny spotlights twinkling on a dark stage. It was spectacular and I felt very small and vulnerable. Not because of James, but vulnerable to life and pain and loss. Thinking about how Michael was missing life, all of this wonder and beauty.

  “Here’s a non-innuendo,” James said, touching my hand lightly with his. “A straight-forward question. Let me see your cell phone.”

  “Huh?”

  “Just give it to me for a sec.”

  I dug it out of my pocket and handed it over. Expertly, he went to my Contacts and input his own name and number. “There. Now I know that if you ever need me, you can call. Anytime.”

  I gave him a small smile, knowing I would never call him. I was still one of those girls who didn’t call a guy. Except if he was my best friend, like Michael had been. We’d called each other since we were nine and just had to go frog hunting by the river. Or play old PS2 games.

  Finally, I spoke, “I didn’t realize you had family here in Snow Valley.”

  “Remember Pastor John, my uncle.”

  “I mean besides him,” I said, catching his eyes in the darkness. “Your sister.”

  “Lydia got here at the start of the school year, and then I arrived after helping my father settle things at home. Now Lydia is living with me. I’m renting a little house close to the church.”

  “But what about your—” I stopped, realizing that I was asking way too many personal questions.

  “Our parents?”

  I nodded, chewing away at my lips.

  “Hey, don’t do that,” James said, running a finger gently along my mouth. “Looks like it hurts.”

  I grimaced. “Only hurts later. Bad habit, I guess.”

  James moved closer and our thighs touched. The rug was cozy and I was completely warm all over, but the awareness of his every movement, every breath was completely unnerving.

  “My dad is overseeing an oil rig in North Dakota right now. My mother—well, she died last summer. That’s why Lydia came to Snow Valley to be with me. All of a sudden I’m parenting a teenage girl. Thank goodness your brother Sam is a pretty good kid. I don’t have to worry about them too much—at least I hope not.”

  “He is a good kid,” I said softly, thinking how I’d had tiny prickles of envy over his sister the other night. I felt foolish and stupid. “I’m sorry about your mother. What—what happened?” I shook my head and held up one hand. “That was crass of me. I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have asked. It’s none of my business.”

  I watched James fidgeting in the seat. His face had a faraway expression. “My mom had diabetes and was trying some new medicine. She had an unexpected reaction and it ended up putting her into a coma. She never came out, no matter what the doctors tried. After a few days she died. It’s been rough, especially for Lydia. Even when a girl declares that her mother drives her crazy, she still needs a mom.”

  My chest grew tight. Tears of empathy burned the corners of my eyes. “I’m so sorry. How awful that must have been. So unexpected, too.”

  He reached out to squeeze my hand and turned toward me. “No as sudden as your Michael. But I know a bit about what you’re feeling. I keep wishing we’d never tried the new medicine. I even yelled at one of the doctors. My dad is so strong and amazing, but I’ve done my share of accusations and blaming all the wrong people. It hurts and it’s unfair. My mom should have lived another thirty years. Finish raising Lydia, seen her get married, all that stuff.”

  My throat burned listening to him. I couldn’t help squeezing his hand in return and we looked at each other in silence for a few moments, knowing the other person’s suffering. The deaths we’d gone through did hurt. And they were unfair. And for once, it was really, really nice to know somebody understood me.

  “Hey, Jessica,” James said, suddenly changing the subject. “You’ve made it abundantly clear that this isn’t an actual date. But I want to take you out on a real date. Like the Christmas Ball next week. Or the Christmas Eve pageant and program, if you’re into more spiritual things. Or I’ve got an ever better idea—how about both?”

  “Now you’re laughing at me again.”

  “I’m never laughing at you.” He brushed one finger against my face, wiping away the tiny tear that had trickled from my eye.

  Horror washed over me knowing that James Douglas was watching me cry.

  “I know what you’re feeling more than you realize.”

  I shook my head. “Losing a mother and losing the boy you’re going to marry are two completely different things. Two different kinds of pain. But still a lot of pain.”

  He nodded quietly. “I know you’ve been grieving for a long time. Running away from home to escape the pain. And it was terrible. I’m not diminishing that. But life is for the living. And I’m interested in you, Jessica, more than you realize.”

  “I—I can’t believe you’re saying these things to me. Have you no compassion?”

  “Jessica. Michael is gone. He’s not coming back. Ever. I know that sounds like harsh words, but you’ve known this for three years. Please take a leap of faith with me. A tiny leap. Heck, just a baby step.”

  “I promised myself to Michael since third grade. I can’t just push him out of my life.”

  “He already is out of your life.”

  I squirmed under his perceptive blue eyes. “I’m not ready. And I don’t care for your ‘insight.’”

  His voice was still patiently gentle. Any other guy would have stomped off already. Part of me wanted James Douglas to stomp off already. Because then I wouldn’t have to deal with him. Or answer his questions. Or examine my own heart.

  “When will you be ready?”

  “Maybe never.”

  “You are one stubborn woman, Jessica Mason. So you’re going to mourn Michael for the rest of your life? Berate yourself and your mistakes? You’re not going to realize that Michael has blame for that night, too?”

  “How dare you speak of him like that when he’s dead!”

  “And you keep insisting that you were in love with him . . .”

  I hesitated for the first time in my life. My pulse pounded in my throat. I felt raw, exposed.

  Of course, I’d been in love with Michael. Ever since grade school.

  “We were best friends!” I said, my temper now seething. “We were engaged!”

  James lifted his eyebrows. “Were you? Really? That’s not what I heard.”

  “Ha
ve you been talking about me to the rest of the town? Behind my back? You’ve got nerve, buddy! Let me out of this sleigh right now!”

  We were already back at the carnival. Although the trip probably wasn’t more than a mile around the bend of the river, and the horses had probably taken the path a million times tonight.

  The bright, pulsating lights of the rides hurt my eyes after the shadows under the moon. I blinked, chewing on my lips like a desperate woman.

  I threw back the rug and jumped out, ready to stomp off. Ready to never speak to James Douglas ever again.

  But before I could move, James slipped his hand under my arm and I whirled, fighting off another bout of tears.

  “I’ll let you go, Jessica, if that’s what you really want. But I want you to know that I haven’t been talking about you or asking questions behind your back. That day I first saw you—at the cemetery. You looked so sad, so lost, so fragile, I asked John who the beautiful girl was. To me, you were brand new to town. You hadn’t been home in three years. He told me the story of you and Michael. How he watched you two grow up, best friends, caring for each other, doing everything together. True friends to the end. He told me that it had broken his heart to see you suffering so much. And that he’d prayed nonstop for you. Even when you stopped talking to him. Stopped attending church. Stopped loving yourself and blamed yourself for everything.”

  I couldn’t breathe. My heart felt as though it had stopped. “I feel so cold,” I whispered. “Sometimes I feel so dead inside.”

  I whirled around, clamping my teeth together, not wanting to say these things. Not wanting anybody to know the bad person I really was. Least of all somebody as good as James Douglas. I mean, what kind of guy lets a girl yell at him, accuse him of trying to run her life, and then sticks around for more?

  “Please let me into your life, Jessica Mason,” James Douglas whispered now, his breath warm across my face.

  “I—I can’t.”

  Then I ran.

  Again.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Sprinting through the gates of the carnival, I ignored the shouts behind me. Within seconds, I’d unlocked my car, jumped in, slammed the door, and tore out through the gates of the fairgrounds.