Risking It All for Love (A Christmas in Snow Valley Romance) (5 page)

When
the
sun peeked through the curtains, I rolled over, slipped my eye mask on, and
stuck ear plugs in so I wouldn’t hear my mother knocking at my bedroom door.

There was no way I was going to church and run into James Douglas.
His eyes were much too discerning, as if he knew what I was thinking. I
burrowed under the blankets, laughing at myself, but it was actually sort of
true. Silly, but true.

A prickling ran along my skin when I remembered the touch of his gentle
hands on my ankle, the whoosh of my stomach as he slid his fingers partway up
the calf of my leg. Just being doctor-ish of course—which he wasn’t. I
guess his years at med school could come in handy for first aid if the occasion
arose during a sermon.

I hadn’t had prickles since I was sixteen and Michael kissed me
for the first time on my birthday.

A burning in my eyes made me nostalgic all over again. I sat up,
ripped off my eye mask and stared out the window at a pale blue sky. The storm
from yesterday had disappeared. Bet it was only twenty degrees—if we were
lucky. Clear and cold.

Swinging my legs over, I tested out my ankle, rolled the ball of
my foot a few times and then stood to attempt a run to the bathroom.

The tiled floor was icy. “Dang! I forgot I need socks and slippers
here in the winter.”

I’d been wallowing in grief and guilt ever since I’d come home, and
now I was officially protesting church attendance. My mother was probably
having fits. A moment later, I realized with a sudden jolt of good humor that I
had the whole house to myself for another hour.

I smiled. I wasn’t so tired anymore.

Funny how I’d planned to sleep in for hours and then found myself wide-awake,
a million things going through my mind. The performance last night. James
Douglas’s evocative stare. Chills running along my neck, a fizzy feeling in my
stomach I was desperately trying to ignore.

Oh, and Michael. Of course. Yes. Him.

I bit at my lower lip, stabbed by the familiar guilt, and opened
my laptop to check email.

There were a series of messages from Zach Howard, one of the
company dancers. He was thirty, kind of old for me; although anything went
these days when it came to relationships. One of the other dancer’s fathers had
married a young woman the same age as his daughter. The troupe girls had rolled
our eyes and shuddered. Could you imagine being with a man who was old enough
to be your father?

Even though Zach had the most muscular body of any dancer I’d ever
seen—and was
not
old enough to be my father, just a big brother, I
still wasn’t interested. Despite the flirting. The phone calls. The multiple
invitations for a movie or coffee.

His emails were filled with a couple of silly holiday jokes.
Stories about his family in Houston. A quick mention that he was missing the
company—which I took to mean he was insinuating that he missed me. I
honestly hadn’t given him a single thought since the ballet company holiday
party.

“Welcome to my world,” I quickly wrote back, tapping the keys with
my freshly painted long nails, done in pale, sugary cotton pink for the Sugar
Plum Fairy performance. “Family Drama. Pestering Moms. Bossy older sisters.
Although fairly cool younger brother.”

I kept the email short and sweet, despite Zach having typed his
phone number in a bolded font, asking me to call. “When you get back to New
Orleans it’s time for us to have a real date, Jessica. We’ll have fun. I
promise.”

He may have been sincere. And then again, he may be using
innuendos that were creeping me out. Hard to tell in email. Despite his rugged
good looks, I wasn’t interested. Never had been, never would.

Thanks goodness Snow Valley, Montana was a long ways from Houston.
“Bet you don’t have two feet of snow on your front lawn,” I typed. “See you in
a few weeks,” I ended airily.

Hit send. Done. I deleted the junk mail and closed the computer
lid, my body eager to move while I cast traitorous thoughts toward James
Douglas. I wondered if Pastor John would let him give a guest sermon today.

Quickly, I dressed in some leggings, thick socks, and a sweatshirt.
Pulled my uncombed hair into a pony tail and brushed my teeth.

Then slid down the polished banister downstairs just like I used
to as a teenager.

I stood at the picture window, drinking hot raspberry tea and
eating one of my mother’s homemade cinnamon rolls, warm from the microwave and
dripping icing.

White sugar. Worst thing for me, but it was hard to resist. It was
Christmas after all. And my mom
was
an excellent baker. Her specialty:
breads and pies.

After licking my fingers I stretched in front of the tree—bare
of decorations. The boxes were stuffed along the wall under the drapes waiting
to be hung. Mom was easily distracted. I’d probably have to help her finish. Growing
up, I’d always done the Christmas decorating. My sister Catherine was useless
in that department.

Selecting Christmas tunes on my iPod, I went through my warm-up
routine as best I could. Maybe I should find a gym while I was here until New
Year’s. Between the holiday food and no regular dance classes, I was going to
go backward in agility and skills.

Every dancer’s constant battle—staying limber. My muscles
ached a bit. Bones creaked. Golly, had I turned forty overnight?

I did a series of
pliés
and then a few turns in place, using the tree angel for spotting,
my neck swiveling.

I was bent over my knees, head down, holding the stretch when the
front door opened. In burst Catherine and the kids and my brother, Sam.

“Thought you’d still be in bed,” Catherine said, tossing coats,
knit caps, and mittens all over the couch and armchair. She was such a slob.

I gave her a faint smile, filled with sarcasm. “Yeah, well, you
thought wrong.”

“Girls!” Mom scolded.

Every time I saw my older sister, I was suddenly back in high
school bickering with her like we were thirteen again. No matter how old we
got. Pathetic.

My two nieces crashed into me for hugs and I swung them up and
kissed each one on their faces, snuggling into their necks. Joanie was four and
Amber was two and they were counting the days until Christmas with the Advent
Calendar my mother had put on the refrigerator.

“You missed church!” Amber cried, immediately slipping out of my
arms to run to the tree and check for any new gifts.

“Yeah, well, I had to work late last night.” I said lamely.

My mother pursed her lips at my excuse and then asked, “Did you
put the roast in the oven?”

I gave her a blank stare. “Didn’t know I was supposed to.”

“I left a note on the cupboard.”

“Sorry, Mom, I didn’t see it.”

She sighed and trotted off to the kitchen. I followed for penance,
Amber hanging onto my legs and beginning to wail. “Joanie won’t let me play
with her doll!”

Catherine pulled her off me and dragged the girls off to change
out of their frilly church dresses. Wails followed, but she quickly cut them
off. “Cookies after lunch for everyone who cooperates!”

“Does that include me?” Sam asked, heading to the computer in the
corner.

Catherine patted his head. “If you’re a good boy.”

Sam shook his head. “Girls! There are too many of them in this
house.”

As I entered the kitchen, Mom was already shoving the slab of pot
roast and veggies in a roasting pan into the oven. “Guess dinner will be late.
Of course, your father won’t be home for a couple of hours. He stayed on to
talk with Pastor John about the upcoming fundraisers for the hospital. He’s on
the board now, you know. ”

“Oh, right. I forgot.”

“You’d remember if you came to church with us.”

I hid a grimace as I freshened my tea with more hot water from the
kettle.

Mom continued, pulling out a mixing bowl and the ingredients to
create cookie dough. “Pastor John will think you’re ignoring him when you don’t
come to church.”

“Maybe I am,” I answered vaguely. There
was
that incident
in high school with Kazz and Paisley and Molly at Bible Camp when we set the
outhouse on fire.

“But everyone needs church—or something—to ground
them.”

“Snow Valley is just too freaking cheerful for me. This town is
small and gossipy. I hate everyone knowing my business. All those
hugs
when Michael—at the funeral, then the cemetery—you know.” I shook
my head. “I felt stifled. Claustrophobic. I just wanted to scream at everyone
to stop looking at me.”

Now my mother looked hurt. “I didn’t realize you felt that way.
The people here care about you. We all hurt terribly when Michael passed away.”

I stuck my hands over my ears. “Don’t
say
it like that! He
died. He was killed. It was my fault!”

Mom reared back as if I’d struck her. Then her face fell,
stricken. She tried to wrap her arms around me, but I flung her off. “It was
not your fault, Jessica. It was stormy that night and the roads were icy and
the brakes locked as you skidded through that intersection. We were blessed
that you didn’t die that night, too.”

“Oh, it’s okay that Michael died as long as
I
didn’t. Tell
that to his mother.”

“You know I don’t mean it like that. That’s not fair.”

“Please. I don’t want to talk about it.”

I headed for the door, but Mom stopped me. I didn’t turn around as
she spoke, quietly and forcefully. “I know you think I interfere with your life
too much. That I’m cloying and probably much too sappy. But your father and I
care deeply about you. We see how much you’ve been hurting the last three
years. Even if you hid yourself away in New Orleans, we know why you left. I’m
also proud of you for trying to live your life. For trying to make it on your
own. But,” she took a deep breath. As though gathering her courage. “But ever
since you got home you’ve spent most of your free time at the cemetery. It
hurts that you seem to resent us. Most of all, it hurts
me
to see how
much
you’re
hurting.”

I chewed on my lips, tears threatening to spill, arms crossed over
my chest to hold myself together.

“It’s been three years, honey. You need to forgive yourself.”

“That’s impossible,” I shuddered.

“I promise you’ll feel better if you throw yourself into the
Christmas festivities or a service project like the bake sale fundraiser
tomorrow. Your old friend, Paisley, has done a remarkable job organizing. She
has real talent.”

“Good for her. But she never had the guts to leave this town.”

“That was cold, Jessica. Very unchristian.”

I shrugged.

“Perhaps you and Paisley could get reacquainted and work together?
I’ll just make a phone call. Getting involved in something will help you quit
moping around the house. Or telephone Kazlyn, your old classmate from ballet
school, and go out on the town.”

“Don’t!” I turned around, wiping a stiff hand across my face.
“Just
don’t
. A bake sale will not fix this. Or a “night on the town. In
Snow Valley—are you kidding me?” I stormed out of the kitchen. “Hey Sam,
want to get out of the house for a couple hours? See if Big C’s has milkshakes
on sale?”

“Not on the Sabbath, you two,” Mom said behind us in her strict voice.

“Mother,” I said evenly. “Sometimes you have to let your children
make their own decisions and let them make their own mistakes. Going out for a
little while isn’t going to send me to hell.”

I could see pain behind my mother’s eyes. It didn’t make me feel
any better to defy her, but I had to get out of the house for awhile.

“I won’t go to hell, either!” Sam cried, a little too joyfully,
as he pulled on his jacket and stuffed one of mom’s hand knit caps on his head.
I pounded upstairs to grab my stuff so I could catch up to him.

When
I
slid into the car—inordinately grateful that I’d driven my own car from
New Orleans because I didn’t have to beg for keys every time I wanted to go
somewhere—Sam gave me a sheepish look.

He held up a plate of cookies tied with red Christmas ribbon and
taped in the center with a cheap green Walgreen’s bow. “Sorry. Mom stuck it in
my hands. Said we have to deliver it to Pastor John’s house.”

I gave him a sideways grin, trying to shake off the argument in
the kitchen. “Mom is a piece of work, you know?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“So tell me Mom’s trick. How’d she get cookies mixed up, baked,
and on a plate so fast?”

“There are two dozen plates just like this in the deep freeze in
the garage.”

“Mom must be a Boy Scout. Always Prepared.”

“Prepared is her middle name.”

“Or cookies. She thinks the world can be made better with the
band-aid of chocolate chip cookies.”

“Well, she does have a point,” Sam said, sneaking one of the
cookies out from under the plastic wrap.

I give him a look. “Everybody in this town is too damn
cheerful—even you!”

“Sorry, sis.”

We got to Big C’s a few minutes later. The roads had been cleared
and salted so it was an easy drive.

The squat gray brick building was clustered with tables and
chairs, now iced over with a thick layer of snow from the previous night’s
storm.

“They really should bring these in for the winter,” I said as we
skirted around them and shoved the glass door open. Warmth bathed my cold face
from the grill and ovens. The smell of fresh baked hamburger buns and onion
rings made me realize that I was starving.

“I think I could use some lunch,” Sam hinted.

I grinned. “Order anything you want. My treat.”

“I always knew I loved you best.”

“The feeling is mutual.”

After getting big sloppy burgers, a basket of hot deep-fried onion
rings and Cokes, we made our way to a table in the corner near the plastic
Christmas tree strung with droopy tinsel.

We ate in companionable silence for a few minutes while silly
Christmas jingles from the radio bruised our ears.

“Man, this is soooo good,” Sam said, gulping the last of the onion
rings and wiping his mouth with a napkin. “But now I’m feeling bad about eating
so much. Mom home cooking Sunday dinner and all.”

“You are a big old bear, you know that?”

He leaned back in his seat and gazed at me. “You’re kind of hard
on her.”

“She’s hard on me, too,” I protested, not wanting him to take her
side.

“I’m on both your sides,” Sam said, as if reading my mind. “But
even when Mom drives me insane I know she means well.”

I sighed. There were no words right now. My stomach was full, and
I was sleepy from all the fabulous, greasy food.

“You’re wound so tight, Jess,” he went on tentatively. As if
feeling his way and hoping I wouldn’t bite his head off.

A lump came into my throat as I stared back at him. “What am I
supposed to do, Sam? I’m stuck in this weird place. I can’t even describe it.
Michael was—my whole life.”

My younger brother glanced down, then around the café, and then back
at me. “You sure about that? Or is that a guilt trip?”

“When did you get to be a shrink?”

“I used to watch you guys all the time. Michael was like a hero, a
big brother to me.”

“He was supposed to be. Your future brother-in-law.”

Sam shrugged, chewing on his lips just like I chewed on mine. “But
watching you guys. For a while you were all kissy and romantic. And then, about
a year before the accident, you guys stopped. You seemed more like cousins or
something, best buddies—just like you were when we were all kids.”

“How would you know? You were only fifteen.”

“I got eyes. And I’m not stupid.”

This conversation was very disconcerting.

“We
were
going to get married.”

Sam shook his head. “I don’t think so. Not really. And I think you
feel like you’re to blame.”

“Of course I do! I—I didn’t stop him from driving that night!”

“No. No. I mean—I mean you feel bad, but mostly because you
didn’t love Michael enough. You were thinking about breaking up with him.”

“No, I wasn’t! What kind of fantasy are you spinning about us?”

“Okay, I don’t think you were actually
thinking
about
breaking up, but you were starting to watch other guys. Talking about leaving
home for college. Or audition for a dance group—or company—or
whatever you call it. And that’s kind of the same thing, isn’t it?”

I couldn’t answer him. He was hitting a nerve.

“I see it happening with my friends now that we’re seniors. We’ve
been together since elementary school and now our lives are kind of like
splitting. We’re all going to do different things after graduation.”

I nodded slowly. The accident
had
changed everything, even
though I’d still left home. Michael and I were going to wait for each other and
get married after college. I tried to remember the last time Michael and I had
actually discussed those plans. I think it was back during our sophomore year.
Not after that at all . . .

“You do realize, Samuel Mason, that you’re the only person I’d
allow to talk to me like this.”

He lifted his eyebrows. “Yeah.”

“Let’s talk about something else. Like
your
girlfriend.”

“Who says I have a girlfriend?”

“I think Mom let it slip on the phone a couple weeks ago before I
came home for the holidays.”

He rolled his eyes.

“So? What’s her name?”

“Lydia.”

“And?”

“She’s pretty amazing. She might be the one. Know what I mean?”

I was stunned to hear that come out of his mouth. “You’re way too
young, Sam! You’ve hardly dated any girls. How could you possibly know you want
to spend your whole life with her already?”

“Wow, you sound like Mom now.”

I covered my mouth with my hand. “Sorry, I did.”

“Besides, you didn’t date anybody but Michael since you were a kid.”

Was I letting my experience with Michael color my opinions on
relationships? It was a thought that made me squirm.

“Anybody in New Orleans?” he asked next, studying me.

I thought about Zach Howard and cringed. “Nope, nobody.”

“That new pastor dude is pretty cool, don’t you think?”

I feigned ignorance. “Who?”

Sam just laughed at me. “I saw a little eye action going on last
night.”

“Did not.”

“Did, too. He asked you out, didn’t he?”

“I hardly call having cocoa with the family asking me out.
Besides, it completely fizzled. End of story.”

“Nope, beginning of story. He was concerned about you. I could
tell. He kept looking at you. Like a lot.”

Those annoying prickly feelings were running rampant down my neck
and legs. Even my fingers were twitching now.

“Believe me, I am
not
interested in a pastor. And won’t ever
be.”

My brother laughed again. “What’s wrong with a pastor? Pastor John
is pretty cool.”

I made a noise in my throat. “If you don’t set his outhouse on
fire.”

“No way. You serious?”

“Drop the subject,” I said with a sugary smile. “You ready to go?”

“But we’re not done with Pastor what’s-his-name.”

“I’m done.”

Sam crumpled up the wrapping to his burger and stuffed it in the
empty basket. “I’m trying to picture you and Pastor Dude getting married. I
gotta tell you – I’m seeing it. I am.”

His eyes glittered with mischief.

“You are so full of it. There is no way I would ever marry some
religious guy. I swore off religion when Michael died.”

“Only because you’re mad at God.”

“I think an alien is now inhabiting your body.”

My brother didn’t crack a smile. He was dead serious. “I mean it,
Jess. You keep crying and getting mad at everyone, walking around like somebody
should shoot you, but it’s only because you’re mad at yourself. And you’re mad
at God for taking Michael and messing up your life.”

“It sounds so selfish when you put it like that.”

“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. “You vocabulary sounds like you just arrived
from California.”

“I went to high school in southern 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.