On a Snowy Night: The Christmas Basket\The Snow Bride (8 page)

“Why'd you do that?” he asked gruffly as she released him and took a step back. He was trying to hide how damn good it'd felt to hold her.

“It's the only way I could think of to thank you for staying, for believing in me enough to wait.”

“I wasn't exactly enumerating your good points while I stood here freezing.”

“I know, I wouldn't either—I mean, well, you know what I mean.”

He did.

Clearing off a space on the picnic table, Noelle climbed up and sat there just as she had when they were teenagers. “All right,” she said, drawing in a deep breath. “Let's talk. Since you were the one to suggest we do this, you should go first.”

So she'd become a take-charge sort of woman. That didn't surprise him. She'd displayed leadership qualities in high school, as well, serving on the student council and as president of the French Club. “All right, that's fair enough.” She might be able to sit, but Thom couldn't. He had ten years of anger stored inside and that made it impossible to stand still for long. “We argued, remember?”

“Of course I do. The argument had to do with our mothers. You said something derogatory about mine and I defended her.”

“As I recall, you had a less-than-flattering attitude toward
my
mother.”

“But you were the first…” She paused. “None of that's important now. What we should be discussing is what happened afterward.”

Once again she was right. “We made up, or so I thought.”

“We made up because we refused to allow the ongoing feud between our mothers to come between us. Later that day, you wrote me a note and suggested we elope.”

Her voice caught just a little. He wanted so badly to believe her. It was a struggle not to. “I loved you, Noelle.”

She smiled, but he saw pain in her eyes and it shook him. For years he'd assumed that she'd used his love against him. That she'd stood him up just to hurt him. To humili
ate him. He'd never really understood why. Was it vindication on behalf of her mother?

“We were going to confront our parents, remember?” Noelle said.

“Yes. I made a big stand, claiming how much I loved you and how I refused to let either of our mothers interfere in our lives. You should've heard me.”

“I did, too!” she declared. “I spilled out my guts to them. Can you imagine how humiliating it was to have to go back and confess that you'd tricked me—that you'd jilted me?”

“Me!” he shouted. “You were the one—”

Noelle held up both hands and he let his anger fade. “Something happened. It must have.” She pressed one hand to her heart. “I swear by all I consider holy that I've never lied to you.”

“You're assuming I did?” he challenged.

“Yes. I mean no,” she cried, confused now. “Something
did
happen, but what?”

“I don't know,” he said. “I was here at three, just like I wrote you in the note.”

She frowned, and he wondered if she was going to try to tell him she hadn't gotten his note. He knew otherwise because he'd personally seen Kristen hand it to her at school.

“The note said eight.”

“Three,” he insisted. Now it was his turn to look perplexed. “I wrote down three o'clock.”

“The note said…” She brought her hand to her mouth. “No, I refuse to believe it.”

“You think Kristen changed the time?”

“She wouldn't do that.” She shook her head. “I know my sister, and she'd never hurt me like that.”

“How do you explain the discrepancy then?”

“I have no idea.” She squeezed her eyes shut. “I remember it vividly. You'd sent it to me after your math class.”

His defenses were down. Time rolled back, and the events of that day were starting to focus in his mind. The fog of his pain dissipated. Finally he was able to look at the events with a clear head and an analytical eye.

“Kristen spilled soda on it,” Noelle said thoughtfully. “Do you think that might have smudged the number?”

“It might explain part of it—but not the nasty note you left on my windshield.”

She had the grace to blush at the reminder. “After waiting until after ten o'clock, I didn't know what to do. It was pretty dark by then, and I couldn't believe you'd just abandon me. I was positive something must've happened, so I phoned your house.”

He nodded, encouraging her to go on.

“Your father said you were out with your friends bowling. I went to the alley to see for myself.” Her voice tightened. “Sure enough, you were in there, boozing it up with your buddies.”

“Don't tell me you actually thought I was having a good time?”

“Looked like it to me.”

“Noelle, I was practically crying in my beer. I felt…I felt as if I'd just learned about some tragedy that was going to change my whole life.”

“Why didn't you call me? How could you believe I'd stand you up? If you loved me as much as you said, wouldn't you make some effort to find out what happened?”

“I did.” To be fair, it'd taken him a day, but he had to know, had to discover how he could've been so mistaken about Noelle. “I waited until the following afternoon. Your mother answered the phone and said I'd already done enough damage. She hung up on me.”

“She never told me,” Noelle whispered. “She never said a word.”

“Why would she?” Thom murmured. “Your mother assumed I'd done you wrong, just the way everyone else in your family did.”

“I left that horrible note on your car and you still phoned me?”

He nodded.

“I can only imagine what you must have thought.”

“And you,” he said.

They both grew quiet.

“I'm so sorry, Thom,” she finally said. “So very sorry.”

“So am I.” He was afraid to touch her, afraid of what would happen if she came into his arms.

Noelle brushed the hair back from her face and when he glanced at her, he saw tears glistening in her eyes.

“It all worked out for the best, though, don't you think?” he asked. He had to say
something
.

She nodded. Then after a moment she spoke in a voice so low he had to lean closer to hear. “Do you really believe that?”

“No.” He reached for her then, crushing her in his arms, lifting her from the picnic table and holding her as if his very life depended on keeping her close to his heart.

His mouth found hers, and her lips were moist and soft, her body melting against his. Their kisses were filled with hunger and passion, with mingled joy and discovery. This sense of
rightness
was what had been missing from every relationship he'd had since his breakup with Noelle. Nothing had felt right with any other woman. He loved Noelle. He'd always loved her.

She buried her face in his shoulder and he kissed the top of her head. Her arms circled his neck and he ran his fingers through her hair, gathering it in his hands as he closed his eyes and let his emotions run free—from anger to joy. From joy to fear. From fear to relief.

“What happens now?” he asked. They didn't seem to have many options. Each had made a life without the other.

She didn't answer him for a long time, but he knew she'd heard the question.

“Noelle,” he said as she raised her head. “What do we do now?”

She blinked back tears. “Do we have to decide this minute? Can't you just kiss me again?”

He smiled and lowered his mouth to hers. “I think that could be arranged.”

 

Fresh from Sunday services—where she'd been inspired by a sermon on giving—Mary Sutton drove to the local Wal-Mart store. She refused to show up the following day and not have the items on her list. No doubt Sarah McDowell assumed she'd arrive at the club empty-handed, but Mary fully intended to prove otherwise.

As soon as Greg had settled in front of the television set watching the Seahawks' play-off game, she was out the door. Shopping this close to Christmas went against every dictate of common sense. Usually she was the organized one. Christmas gifts had been purchased, wrapped and tucked away soon after Thanksgiving. But, with these six Christmas baskets, she had no choice. She had to resort to last-minute shopping.

The parking lot at Wal-Mart was packed. Finding a space at the very rear of the lot, Mary trudged toward the busy store. She dreaded dealing with the mob of shoppers inside. On the off-chance she might have a repeat of that horrible scene in Value-X, she surveyed the lot—looking up one row and down the next—in search of Sarah's vehicle. She sighed with relief when she didn't see the other woman's car.

List in hand, Mary grabbed a cart and headed straight for the toy section. She hoped the store would have Barbie
dolls left on the shelf. She hated the thought of a single child being disappointed on Christmas morning. Fortunately, the shelves appeared to have been recently restocked.

Reaching for a Firefighter Barbie doll, she set it inside her basket. With a sense of accomplishment, she wheeled the cart around the corner to the riding toys. To her horror and dismay, she discovered Sarah McDowell reading the label on a toddler-sized car. This was her worst nightmare.

“No,” she muttered, not realizing Sarah would hear her.

Her bitterest enemy turned and their eyes locked. “What are
you
doing here?” Sarah demanded.

“The same thing you are.”

Sarah gripped her cart with both hands, as if she was prepared to engage in a second ramming session. Frankly, Mary had suffered all the humiliation she could stand and had no desire to go a second round.

“Can't you buy your grandson's gifts some other time?”

“How dare you tell me when I can or cannot shop.” Mary couldn't believe the gall. She would shop when and where she pleased without any guidance from the likes of Sarah McDowell.

“Mary, hello.”

Mary wanted to groan out loud. Janice Newhouse, the pastor's wife, was easing her cart toward them. “This must be Sarah McDowell. I've seen your photo on a real estate brochure.” She smiled warmly at the woman who had caused Mary so much pain. “I'm Janice Newhouse.”

“Hello.” Sarah's return greeting was stiff.

“I've heard so much about you,” Janice said, apparently oblivious to the tension between the two women.

“I'll just bet you have.” Sarah said this as though to suggest that Mary was a gossipmonger, when nothing could be further from the truth. For years, she'd quietly refused to get drawn into any discussion involving Sarah. It
wouldn't do either of them any good. The same could not be said for Sarah McDowell. She'd taken delight in blackballing Mary's membership in the Women's Century Club. She'd dragged Mary's name and reputation through the mud. Mary, on the other hand, had chosen the higher ground—with the exception, perhaps, of that newspaper column on the perfidy of real estate agents, and that certainly hadn't been a personal attack.

“I understand the Willis family bought their home through you,” Janice said, making polite conversation.

“You know the Willises?”

“Yes, they're members of our church. So are Mary and her husband.”

Sarah's expression was glacial. “Oh.”

“Sarah and I are buying gifts for the charity baskets,” Mary said.

“We divided the list and now we're each getting half,” Sarah went on to explain. “Tomorrow we're assembling the baskets and taking them to Salvation Army headquarters.”

That was much more than Janice needed to know, Mary thought irritably. Sarah was just showing off.

“That's wonderfully charitable of you both,” Janice murmured.

“Thank you.” Sarah added a pull toy to her basket.

Mary reached for one herself.

Next Sarah took down a board game; Mary took two.

Sarah grabbed a skateboard.

“How generous you are,” Janice commented, eyes widening as she observed their behavior. “Both of you appear to be very…zealous.”

“I believe in giving back to the community,” Mary said.

“As do I,” Sarah insisted. By now her cart was so full she couldn't possibly cram anything else into it.

“Leave something for me to buy,” Mary challenged,
doing her best to keep the smile on her face from turning into a scowl.

“I'm the one who has the little girl who wants a Firefighter Barbie on my list,” Sarah said, staring pointedly at the doll in Mary's cart.

“
I'm
the one with the gift list,” Mary countered. “Besides, there are plenty of Barbie dolls.”

“You aren't even supposed to be buying toys. That was
my
job.” Sarah's eyes narrowed menacingly.