Season Of Cheer

For the first time in years, Christmas brings hope to Bygones, Kansas. But for Josh Barton, Main Street’s coffee shop owner, it brings back sad memories he’d rather forget. He’s a new man, with a new life and faith now. Still, he hides a huge part of himself from his neighbors—and from one very inquisitive reporter. Whitney Leigh seems determined to uncover the mystery of the town’s recent windfall, and Josh could help her. But that would mean opening up his guarded heart. Can a man who thought family and Christmas were only for others find a forever home where he least expects?

The Heart of Main Street: They’re rebuilding the town one step—and heart—at a time.

“Do you have time to talk?” Whitney asked.

“I always have time for my favorite reporter,” Josh said.

Whitney felt a frisson of energy zing up her spine. Of all the new folks, this was the only person whose teasing set her on edge and sometimes made her tremble like dry autumn leaves in a gale.

“Mind if I ask you a question first?” Josh said amiably. “Sort of turnabout’s fair play?”

“I guess not. I have a whole list for you.”

He rested his elbows on the table, leaned forward and studied her for a moment. “Why do you wear those glasses instead of contacts?”

She noticed that he was no longer grinning like a Cheshire cat, so she made a face at him. “That’s a silly question. I need them to read.”

“To read? Or as a mask to hide behind?” he asked quietly.

The Heart of Main Street: They’re rebuilding

the town one step—and heart—at a time.

Cozy Christmas by Valerie Hansen

December 2013

VALERIE HANSEN

was thirty when she awoke to the presence of the Lord in her life and turned to Jesus. In the years that followed, she worked with young children, both in church and secular environments. She also raised a family of her own and played foster mother to a wide assortment of furred and feathered critters.

Married to her high school sweetheart, she now lives in an old farmhouse she and her husband renovated with their own hands. She loves to hike the wooded hills behind the house and reflect on the marvelous turn her life has taken. Not only is she privileged to reside among the loving, accepting folks in the breathtakingly beautiful Ozark mountains of Arkansas, she also gets to share her personal faith by telling the stories of her heart for all the Love Inspired Books lines.

Life doesn’t get much better than that!

Cozy Christmas

Valerie Hansen

www.millsandboon.co.uk

MILLS & BOON

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Behold, a virgin shall be with child, and shall bring forth a son, and they shall call his name Immanuel.

—Matthew 1:23

To my husband, Joe, and friend, Karen,

who faithfully read and proof for me.

Any remaining mistakes we plan to blame

on someone else. And many thanks to

Shelley Winchester of the Awesome Coffee Cafe in Salem, AR, for introducing me to the coffee business.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Chapter Sixteen

Chapter Seventeen

Chapter Eighteen

Chapter Nineteen

Chapter Twenty

Chapter Twenty-One

Epilogue

Dear Reader

Questions for Discussion

Excerpt

Chapter One

Whitney Leigh rolled her eyes. “Romance! It’s getting to be an epidemic.”

Because she was alone in the car she didn’t try to temper her frustration. Fortunately, the editor of the Bygones Gazette had instructed her to use a different approach this time. He wanted her to praise the progress of the stores involved in the Save Our Streets redevelopment project to commemorate their sixth-month anniversary. If he had asked her for one more fluff piece about all the engagements, and even a recent marriage, involving those new businesses, she would have screamed. Just thinking about it made her want to.

Parking in front of the Cozy Cup Café and pausing behind the wheel of her vintage, yellow Mustang convertible, she shivered. A warm, wool coat, scarf and gloves were not enough to make up for the lack of insulation provided by the cloth-topped car. Although it was dear to her heart, there was a lot to be said for a thick, solid roof during the winter, particularly in Kansas.

She pulled the ignition key, set the brake and slid out. Myriad Christmas lights twinkled around nearby shop windows and hung from the colorful awnings that fronted the block of renovated stores.

The Save Our Streets merchants’ decorating committee had wound garlands of holly, tinsel and shiny ornaments around the old-fashioned-looking light standards and topped them with banners heralding the holiday season. Coordinated wreaths decked every store entrance while bouquets of silk poinsettias had replaced real flowers around the bases of the evergreens in the quaint planters along the refurbished street. The whole effect was charming. Welcoming.

However, it was also freezing outside. Whitney leaned in to grab her tote bag, slammed the car door and picked her way cautiously through the dusting of fresh snow toward her current assignment.

As a lifelong citizen of Bygones she was supposed to have been perfect for the job of ferreting out the hidden facts concerning the town’s mysterious windfall. Too bad she had failed. Instead of an exposé, she’d ended up filling her column with news of people’s love lives, when what she needed were reasonable, definitive answers to her more serious queries. But she was not going to quit investigating. No, sir. Not until she’d uncovered the real facts. Especially the name of Bygones’s secret benefactor.

A few things were already known, not that that helped much. First, a mysterious philanthropist had bought a whole block of empty buildings on Main Street, then bankrolled a group of merchants from other places to open new businesses in every available location except the old movie house. Only outsiders could apply.

“What was that all about?” Whitney murmured to herself. Some former shopkeepers had fled when Bygones had started to die but that didn’t mean there were no other folks capable of stepping in. If some wealthy person had really wanted to help the town recover and survive after the disastrous downturn in the economy and the permanent closing of Randall Manufacturing, the least he—or she—could have done was relegate the grant money to locals.

The legal arrangement had included them as employees, yes, but never as bosses. That point, alone, was enough to convince her that the anonymous benefactor was not from a small town. He or she obviously had no earthly idea how the minds of country people worked—or how they looked after their own.

She slipped and slid the last yard to the Cozy Cup Café, used the door handle to regain her balance, stepped inside and wiped her boots on the mat, stomping off globs of wet snow as she admired the delicate wreath that hung just inside the glass door. It wasn’t the customary green and red colors. Instead, it had been fashioned of brass and gold ribbons and ornaments with snowy accents that perfectly picked up the mocha and cream motif of the shop.

And speaking of coffee... Hearty aromas of freshly ground beans and warm drinks like cider and hot chocolate, as well as the shop’s trademark specialty brews, washed over her. If she had not been worried that the handsome barista greeting her with a smile would misinterpret her overt expression of bliss, she might have sighed audibly.

“Cold out there?” Josh Smith asked Whitney.

“Not as cold as it will be in another month.” She removed her teal-blue gloves and matching scarf and dropped them into the tote, then began to unbutton her cream-colored coat.

“What can I do for you?”

Whitney was tempted to launch right into her real reason for being there. Instead, she merely said, “Fix me something warm?”

“Like what?”

“Surprise me.”

Judging by his lazy smile and the twinkle in his greenish-hazel eyes, she decided she had made a mistake by giving him too much leeway so she added, “As long as it’s mostly chocolate.”

“Picky, picky, picky.”

She couldn’t help smiling in return as she settled herself at one of the small, round, glass-topped tables and hung her coat over the back of the wrought-iron chair. There was something unique about this place. And, truth to tell, the same went for the other new businesses on Main. Each one had filled a need and become an integral part of Bygones in a mere five or six months. That, alone, was amazing, particularly given the townspeople’s original negative reaction to the so-called invasion.

Josh Smith was a prime example. He was what she considered young—twenty-eight to her twenty-five, according to his original business application—yet he had quickly won over the older generations as well as the younger ones. Some of the retired citizens had begun to make his shop their go-to place for morning coffee, gossip and camaraderie, while teens had adopted his internet cafe as if they had been waiting for it all their lives.

Perhaps they had. Josh’s computers were state-of-the-art, with game-playing capabilities far beyond anything she had ever seen.

Wearing a brown-and-white-striped apron over jeans and a polo shirt, he stepped out from behind the counter with a steaming cup in one hand and a taller, whipped-cream-topped tumbler in the other.

“Your choice,” he said pleasantly, placing both drinks on the table and joining her as if he already knew this was not a social call.

“I see you’re not too busy this afternoon. Do you have time to talk?” She reached into her tote for her digital recorder, notepad and a pen.

“I always have time for my favorite reporter,” he said.

“How many reporters do you know?” She took a cautious sip from the cup, holding it in both hands to warm her icy fingers.

“Hmm, let’s see.” A widening grin made his eyes sparkle. “One.”

Whitney felt a frisson of energy zing up her spine. Of all the new folks, he was the only person whose teasing set her on edge and sometimes made her tremble like dry autumn leaves in a gale.

Trying to mask her nervousness she put down her cup and tucked stray strands of blond hair behind her ears before donning her glasses and picking up the pen.

“Mind if I ask you a question first?” Josh said amiably. “Sort of turnabout’s fair play?”

“I guess not. I have a whole list for you.”

He rested his elbows on the table, leaned forward and studied her for a moment. “Why do you wear those glasses instead of contacts?”

“What?”

“Those clunky glasses. The heavy frames.”

She noticed that he was no longer grinning like a Cheshire cat so she made a face at him. “That’s a silly question. I need them to read.”

“To read? Or as a mask to hide behind?” he asked quietly. “You have beautiful green eyes but I have to really work to see them clearly behind those lenses.”

“Why would you want to?” Whitney asked before she realized she might not want to hear his answer. Instead of waiting, she waved her hands as if erasing a chalkboard and added, “Never mind. Forget it. There’s already an epidemic in this crazy town and I do not intend to let myself catch whatever it is that’s going around.”

Josh rocked back and raked his fingers through his short, auburn hair before lacing his fingers behind his neck. “You’ve lost me.”

“Romance, engagements, endless talk of marriage,” Whitney blurted, immediately coloring with embarrassment. “Do you realize that nearly every one of the new shops is the setting for some kind of pairing? It’s ridiculous.”

“Considering it an illness is not very flattering to the couples involved.”

“Listen,” Whitney drawled, “you can pooh-pooh it all you want. I don’t think it’s a bit funny.” She thumbed through her notes, found what she was looking for and began to read. “First, there was the florist, Lily Farnsworth, and Tate Bronson. They’re already married. Then Melissa Sweeney at the bakery took up with her own Mr. Cupcake, Brian Montclair. They’re getting married next month.”

“Well, yes, but...”

Whitney touched the paper with the tip of her pen. “I’m not through. The hardware store is just as bad. Patrick Fogerty is going to marry Gracie Wilson, providing she doesn’t run away and leave him standing at the altar like she did her first groom. And what about Allison True?”

“That one shouldn’t count,” Josh argued. “Allison and Sam Franklin had a history already. I understand the only reason she was considered for one of the grants to start her bookstore was because she’d been away from Bygones for so many years she was no longer thought of as a local.”

“Fine.” Whitney sighed and paused for a sip of her mocha latte. “Then explain the pet store romance and engagement.”

“You can’t include that one, either.”

“Why not?”

“Because Vivian Duncan works for Allison, not Chase Rollins. His store had nothing to do with it.”

Looking past him and seeing a group of teens entering, Whitney said, “You’d better go. You have customers.”

“That bunch?” Josh barely took his eyes off her. “They just want to play computer games. They can log themselves on without my help.”

He rested his chin in his palms and gave her another lazy grin. “So, what was it you wanted to interview me about? I’m all yours.”

At that moment, all Whitney could think to ask was, How did you get so good-looking? She was certainly not going to give voice to anything like that.

Instead, she pushed her glasses up the bridge of her nose with one finger and pretended to concentrate on her notes while she wrestled to subdue her errant emotions. She wished her cheeks didn’t feel so unusually warm.

* * *

Josh could tell his casual repartee had rattled the cute reporter. Well, too bad. She had been sticking her nose into his business from the moment he’d arrived in Bygones. If she had been old and ugly, or even just a little slow-witted, he’d have been fine. Unfortunately, she was none of those things.

Thinking about his prior encounters with Whitney made him smile. Actually, any time he let his thoughts drift her way he found an unexpected lift. His rational mind kept arguing that there was no good reason for feeling that way, yet he did. And that connection was getting stronger the longer he knew her.

In view of the fact that he still had a successful software business to run in St. Louis, developing an emotional attachment to the local reporter was not only foolish, it was counterproductive. He had never intended to stay past the first of the year and nothing had happened since his initial arrival in Bygones to change those plans. Now that his coffee shop was starting to show a profit he felt certain it would be salable. So why was he starting to have mental reservations about putting it on the market?

“Hey, don’t look so depressed,” Whitney joked, sounding slightly nervous. “My boss wants me to write about the successes of the new businesses and how being in Bygones has affected their owners. I’m not going to ask you anything I haven’t already asked all the other grant recipients.”

“Okay. Fire away.”

“You once told me you had never run a coffee specialty store before. What made you decide to learn?”

Josh shrugged, hoping he looked nonchalant. “I don’t really know. I was kind of a computer buff and I thought the two would go together pretty well. By the time I heard about this opportunity, the bookstore people had decided not to serve coffee there, so I thought I’d try it with my computers. I like espresso and I figured the local kids would take to the games.”

“Was it hard to learn how to make the different drinks?”

“Not really. I got a book and watched a tutorial on the internet. After that it was mostly a matter of practicing.” He grinned. “I did drink a lot of my own coffee those first few weeks while I experimented.”

Whitney glanced at the chocolaty concoction he’d served her. “Well, you certainly have a knack for it. This is delicious.”

“Thanks. As long as I stick to a set formula I do fine. The only customers who throw me are the ones who like to invent their own recipes, then expect me to remember and repeat them months later.”

“You have plenty of computers here. You could use one to make a special file for each person.”

Smart, Josh thought. Too smart. “Good idea,” he drawled. “I’ll have to give that some thought.”

“So, tell me more about the other part of your store. When did you get interested in computers?”

“In college,” he said, hoping she wouldn’t pursue the subject further. “It’s just a hobby.”

Whitney’s brows arched. “A hobby? I heard you had repaired laptops for friends, plus you keep all the stations in this place working perfectly. That’s a little more than a hobby.”

“Not necessarily. All it takes is a logical mind.”

“Which you obviously have. You mentioned college. Where did you go to school?”

This was getting a bit too personal to suit Josh. “Let’s just say I didn’t graduate and leave it at that, shall we?”

“Really? That surprises me since you seem so capable. What was your major?”

Standing abruptly, Josh picked up the taller drink and paused next to the table. “Sorry. I have to get back to work,” he said, forcing a smile, “and make sure the kids don’t download something that’s too advanced or adult for them. Enjoy your coffee.”

“What do I owe you?” Whitney called, lifting her cup for emphasis.

“No charge. It’s on the house.”

He could have told her that she owed him a lot more than she knew, but he held back. If things went as planned, he’d never have to reveal his part in the rescue of the struggling little town that was such a nostalgic part of his mother, Susanna’s, memories. At least not before he left there for good—and, hopefully, not even then.

He had not launched this recovery project for the accolades it might bring him. He had done it for unselfish reasons, to surprise and please his mother. However, considering the scope of his investment in the captivating Kansas town, he doubted he’d ever tell anyone how much of his personal fortune he had spent on the Save Our Streets project.

Josh huffed. So, Whitney wanted to know how being in Bygones for six months had affected him, did she? The honest answer was, adversely. He was actually starting to question the wisdom of his firm, sensible plans to sell out soon and move back to St. Louis.

Spending money to benefit others was not his problem. He simply hoped he had not inadvertently invested too big a part of himself.

* * *

Whitney took her time getting into her coat, wrapping the scarf around her neck and pulling on her gloves. Of all the merchants whom she had interviewed, this man was the hardest to understand. To begin with he had seemed a lot like the others, but as she’d gotten to know everyone else she had realized that Josh Smith was different.

Of course, any guy who lived and breathed computers the way he did had to be a little odd. And very intelligent. Perhaps that was why she was having such a hard time drawing him into a revealing conversation.

Watching him bending over one of the work stations in which the teens were engrossed, she shook her head. Truth to tell, she got more usable responses from Pepper, the talking parrot in Chase Rollins’s Fluff & Stuff pet shop, than she did from Josh.

Looking up the name Smith on college rolls was an option that was likely to take her forever. And, since he had dropped out, she’d have even less chance of learning anything about his past that way.

For the first time since she’d met him it occurred to her to wonder if Smith was his real name.

Shaking herself, she banished that thought. The SOS—Save Our Streets—committee had vetted each applicant. Coraline Connolly had headed up the process and nobody was going to put anything over on the savvy school principal.

Plus, Miss Coraline was Josh’s mentor for the project. There was no way he’d have been able to fool her. Absolutely not.

Waving to him as she deliberately passed close by, she said, “Thanks for the coffee.”

He barely glanced at her. “You’re welcome. Have a great day.”

“Oh, I plan to,” Whitney said, hesitating to make sure he was paying attention. “Since you’re not able to continue our interview, I think I’ll stop over at the school and see if Miss Coraline is too busy to chat.”

Josh’s head snapped around so quickly she wondered why the action didn’t give him whiplash. “Coraline? Why?”

“Because she’s the one who got the original letter that started all this new commerce,” Whitney said. “Besides, she’s the SOS committee member who was paired with you right from the start. I can get her take on the project from the beginning and see how positive she feels about the great progress everyone has made. It’ll be perfect background for my article. Bye now.”

If Whitney hadn’t been so determined to remain professional she might have giggled at his widening gaze and uneasy expression. Clearly, she had touched a nerve. Maybe she’d been going about this investigative reporting job all wrong. Maybe, instead of simply interviewing the newbies, she needed to go farther back. Dig deeper into the origins of the renewal plan. Ask to see the original paperwork instead of merely the copies that Coraline had circulated when she’d called the first town meeting and formed the oversight committee.

Although Josh had turned away from her as she walked to the door, she could still sense his awareness, still feel an inner vibration of the energy that had arisen from their proximity.

That shouldn’t surprise me, she admitted ruefully. When that man was around she could not ignore him. Not even a little.

Whitney smiled slightly as she walked back to her car. It was gratifying to see that Josh Smith was becoming as responsive to her presence as she was to his. Which was one more reason—perhaps the best reason of all—why she needed to know what he was hiding and why he refused to talk about his past.

Chapter Two

The spirit of Christmas was everywhere in Bygones. When Whitney turned onto Bronson Avenue on her way to the school she saw more sparkling decorations festooned with uncountable twinkling lights. Where the snow had melted from passing traffic, the red bricks of the street reflected the flickering above and lent a feeling of warmth to the otherwise wintry scene.

It was late enough in the afternoon for classes to have been dismissed. Coraline Connolly’s aging blue sedan, however, was still in the faculty parking lot. From the look of it, it had sat there all day because it was frosted with fluffy snow like a cake dusted with powdered sugar.

Whitney parked her Mustang next to Coraline’s car and entered the brick, two-story building. Inside, the halls were decorated with posters announcing a school Christmas program as well as the community caroling and tree-lighting ceremony at the park.

Nostalgia washed over Whitney, carrying her back to the thousands of times she had been in that building as a student. A deep breath brought the familiar odors of the place; a base of wet sneakers, glue, plastic and stale sack lunches overlaid with a hint of cleaning solution. She would have known where she was if she’d arrived there blindfolded.

The heels of her boots ticked a cadence on the polished hallway and echoed off the walls as she hurried toward the principal’s office. No matter how many times she came here, she always experienced a surge of memories that made her feel more like a teen than an adult.

Whitney was smiling when she paused at the open door to Coraline’s office and rapped on the jamb. “Good afternoon. Have you got a minute?”

“Of course, dear.” Circling her desk, the gray-haired principal opened her arms to her visitor and gave her a motherly hug. “I was meaning to phone you anyway, just hadn’t gotten around to it.” Her already pleasant smile widened and her blue eyes sparkled. “I need another volunteer to bake three dozen cookies for the tree-lighting ceremony this coming Saturday.”

Whitney returned the hug, then stepped back. “Only if you give me permission to buy them from Melissa at the bakery. I don’t do a lot of cooking.”

“Then how are you ever going to snag yourself a decent husband? Don’t you know the way to a man’s heart...”

“Is through his stomach,” Whitney supplied with a soft laugh. “So I’ve heard.”

“Well then?”

She shook her head so hard she dislodged one end of the scarf loop that circled her neck. “Well, nothing. If I never hear about another supposedly amazing romance, I’ll be happy. If you’ve been reading the Gazette, you know my boss has had me covering a bunch of lovey-dovey stuff lately. I’ve decided it must be some kind of epidemic.”

“That is a rather negative spin to put on it,” the principal observed.

“Now you sound like Josh.”

The older woman stared. “You’ve been talking to Josh Smith?”

“I’ve been trying to.” Whitney plopped into a side chair and sighed. “That man is harder to interview than anybody I’ve ever met.”

“Probably just the kind of mind he has. You know what I mean. Some people are talkers, like you and I, while others are deep thinkers, like Josh.”

“You’re probably right. Which is partly why I’m here,” Whitney explained. “I thought it might help if I could take a peek at the legalese that came with the business grants.”

“I supplied everyone with copies,” Coraline said.

“I know. I have those. I was just wondering if there might be some clue in the originals that wasn’t in the packets you handed out.”

“A clue to what?”

“The origin of the grants. You know the saying, follow the money.”

“Sorry. There’s nothing in those papers you haven’t already seen.” She returned to the chair behind her desk and made herself comfortable. “Is there anything else I can do for you?”

“Outside of telling me the name of Mr. Moneybags, I guess not.”

“Mister? Why do you believe it’s a man?” Coraline asked. “I think women are far more likely to be philanthropic, don’t you? It’s our tendency to nurture.”

“I suppose you’re right. When I first started looking into this for the Gazette, I thought of the benefactor as either male or female. Lately, though, I’m starting to see him as a man.”

“Whatever you say, Whitney.” The principal picked up a pen and sorted through a pile of papers on the desk until she found the one she wanted and brought it forward. “So, can I put you down for three dozen?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

“Excellent. If you’re coming to the ceremony you can just drop the cookies off that night. I’ll have a table set up next to the hot chocolate the Cozy Cup is providing.”

“Josh is bringing enough for the whole town?”

Coraline busied herself making notes on the list. “We all pitch in every year. You know that. I’m sure others will donate, too.”

“Right. I’d better stop by Sweet Dreams and get those cookies ordered before Melissa’s swamped. She says she won’t know for sure until she’s been in business for the whole year, but she predicts this is going to be her best season.”

“I suspect so,” Coraline said sweetly. “I’m looking forward to having my children home for the holidays. How are your parents doing?”

“Fine, thanks. I wasn’t sure Mom would survive Dad’s knee surgery but he’s back on his feet and she’s stopped doting on him so much.”

“You’re very fortunate to have such a satisfying life.” Her smile faded. “Not all of my former students have been so blessed.”

“Maybe that would be a good hook for another series of articles,” Whitney ventured, picturing a headline and framing it in the air with her hands. “Teen leaves small town looking for happiness and discovers that he or she had it all the time, right here in Bygones.”

Once again, Coraline seemed unduly bothered. Whitney stood and approached the desk. Reverting to her student attitude she asked, “Are you all right, Mrs. Connolly?”

“I’m fine, dear. Just terribly busy. You understand, don’t you?”

“Of course.”

“Perhaps we can chat more at the tree lighting. A few of our students are going to be wearing elf hats and helping to pass out the goodies. I’ll be there to keep an eye on them.”

“What about the church? Are they going to bring the crèche down to the park, too?”

“Not this year. They’re doing a live drama program called Bethlehem, with a real donkey and a few sheep.” She smiled. “I suspect it would be best to keep the livestock confined to the churchyard where the rest of the stable is set up.”

“You’re probably right.” Whitney started for the door. “Thanks for your time. Sorry to have bugged you.”

“Think nothing of it, dear.”

As Whitney left the office she happened to glance back over her shoulder. Coraline was watching. And there was a definite frown wrinkling her brow.

Since the older woman had lived and worked in Bygones all her life, Whitney supposed she did take special events very seriously; she just hated to see the principal looking so unduly burdened.

* * *

The small, sparsely furnished apartment over the coffee shop was not up to Josh’s usual standards. He had two reasons for occupying it. One, it was foolish to waste money setting up a real home in Bygones when he wasn’t planning to stay. And two, he didn’t want to give the impression that he could afford better. It had been difficult enough to honestly answer questions about his efforts to spruce up the empty movie theater located next to his shop. Everybody knew it wasn’t included in the grants so he’d had to play down his personal investment.

It was the industry-wide shift from 35mm film to digital presentation that had drawn his interest—and had caused the theater’s former owner to sell to his dummy corporation so cheaply. The cost of conversion was going to be expensive and might never pay off.

Josh, however, was delighted for a chance to tinker with a computer-driven system. If all went well, he hoped to surprise Bygones by opening with a free showing of a Christmas movie within the month.

Personally, he didn’t see why practically everybody got so sentimental at this time of year. As his father had often said while entertaining business associates in their palatial home, emotional attachments to tradition were nothing but useful tools.

The late Bruce Barton had paid professionals to decorate his home and office for the lavish holiday parties he’d hosted, relegating Josh’s mother, Susanna, to the task of playing glamorous hostess. Every time Susanna had tried to add homey touches to the austere but elegant decorations, Bruce had made fun of her efforts and insisted she remove them. By the time Josh was a young teen, she had stopped trying and had meekly complied with whatever made her husband happy.

Josh suddenly felt compelled to phone his mother. It was because of her that he’d begun the Bygones rescue project, although she didn’t know it. She was the one with nostalgic memories of the town, not him.

She answered on the second ring. “Hello?”

“Hey, Mom. I tried to connect with you by computer a couple of times. You must have the instant messaging feature turned off.”

“Josh! It’s wonderful to hear your voice.” She sniffled, making him wonder if she was catching cold. “You know computers hate me. The whole system shut down about a week ago and refuses to work. I suppose I’ll have to call one of your techie friends to have a look at it—unless you’re planning on coming home soon.”

“I’ve been pretty busy,” he said, wishing he could tell her the whole truth about his absence right now, instead of waiting.

“Well, just so you won’t have to worry about me during the holidays, I’m going on a Caribbean cruise with two other widows. We’re leaving next week.”

That made sense. After all, she was alone now and must be knocking around in that big house his father had insisted upon. Why she didn’t sell it and truly move on was beyond him.

“That’s a good first step,” Josh told her. “If there’s Wi-Fi on the ship you can keep me posted about all the fun you’re having.”

“I suppose so,” Susanna replied softly. “I miss you, honey.”

“I miss you, too. We’ll get together and catch up on everything after you come home all tanned and relaxed.”

“I’m surprised it’s taking you so long to set up that new branch of Barton Technologies.”

Josh had almost forgotten his necessary cover story. “I should be done by the first of the year.”

That much was true. Actually, he could have left Bygones months ago and been assured that his money was being well spent. So what had kept him?

The notion that he might be starting to like his life in the small town was too ridiculous to consider seriously. He was completing a necessary job, that’s all. He might not be creating the computer software design administrative center that his mother imagined, but he was still working. And he was pretty proud of the results he was seeing.

Main Street had recovered beyond his wildest dreams. Merchants and the Save Our Streets committee had worked together to produce a model shopping area that was not only appealing, it was also profitable. Even his coffee specialty shop and computer gaming business was showing a slight gain, and it was just a front for his real occupation as a cutting-edge software designer and founder of Barton Technologies.

There were times when Josh felt like one of those comic book superhero characters, with a mild-mannered facade hiding extraordinary powers.

Grinning at the inane image, he told his mother, “If your computer would boot up, I could fix it from here. Since it won’t, I’ll send somebody over before you leave for your cruise. How about tomorrow?”

“That’s fine,” Susanna said. “Love you.”

“Me, too,” he mumbled, returning to the reticence he had learned so well while growing up. “Bye.”

Affection was rarely shown and even less often spoken of during his childhood. That was simply the way it was. Only after his father’s death had his mother begun to tell him she loved him. It was still difficult to echo her sentiment in spite of the fact that Josh loved her dearly.

He ended the call, stared at the phone for a few seconds, then shoved it back into his pocket and sat down at one of his computers to email the Barton tech support team.

* * *

As Whitney entered Melissa Sweeney’s Sweet Dreams Bakery, she couldn’t repress a grin. Seeing macho Brian Montclair behind the counter with his blondish hair and sporting a holiday-themed apron was just too funny. The guy was built like a linebacker, yet he’d managed to fit into this job. Finally. Getting rid of the chip on his shoulder over not getting a chance to start a repair garage had taken some doing. Of course, romancing his boss hadn’t hurt, either.

“Hey, Brian,” Whitney said. “I need to place a rush cookie order.”

“Sure thing. Melissa’s already got a bunch of those stacked up. What do you need and when?”

“Late Saturday afternoon. About three dozen. I’ll make it easy for her and just take whatever kind she bakes. They’re for the tree-lighting ceremony in the park.”

“Gotcha.” He was painstakingly making note of her order. “You still poking into the secret Santa deal?”

“If you mean looking for the mysterious money man, yes. Why? Do you know who it is?”

“Nope. But Melissa got another one of those pep talk messages in the mail. I figure the others did, too.”

“Interesting. Mind if I have a look at yours?”

“Not at all.” He reached behind him to a ribbon where his boss—and fiancée—had hung a string of Christmas cards, and plucked one from the group. “Here you go. Short and sweet.”

“Rats. It’s printed, just like before. I was hoping to see a handwriting sample this time.”

“Guess the guy’s too smart for that,” Brian offered.

“Do you think it’s a man, too? I didn’t at first, but I’m starting to lean that way now.” Whitney handed the card back to him.

“Yeah, I do,” the former mechanic said. “I guess it’s because of the way he operates. You know. Using plain stationery at first, now that card. Compared to the frilly way Lily designed all the Christmas decorations and the fancy cakes Melissa makes, that’s barely even a holiday greeting, let alone girly.”

Pensive, Melissa studied the card as he hung it back up. “You’re right. It not only looks masculine, it’s generic. Not even very festive. I suppose it could have been chosen just to throw us all off but it does make me wonder.”

“Anything else I can get you?” he asked.

“Um. I’d love to take home half the goodies in your cases but I just had a mocha latte at the Cozy Cup so I’d better not.”

She started for the door as new customers entered. Waving, she called, “I’ll be back for the cookies after three on Saturday. Okay?”

Brian’s nod and smile was all the answer she needed.

That plain greeting card was a clue. It had to be. And if all the other new businesses had received identical messages, maybe she’d be able to trace their origin.

Chances of doing so were slim to none, yet, at this point, Whitney was ready to try anything. Her next move was a visit to each merchant in the heart of Main Street to ask if they had received cards similar to the one at the bakery.

Love in Bloom was right next door. That was where she would begin, walking rather than bothering to move her car out of the lot behind the bakery.

“Plus, I can ask Lily how it feels to have had the first wedding,” she muttered, once again recalling the phenomenon of escalating romances. Lily had been the first to succumb. Therefore, if Whitney’s next column needed a personal interest touch she could always include more about Tate Bronson’s whirlwind courtship of the pretty florist.

Besides, she added, this was going to be his daughter, Isabella’s, first Christmas with both a mama and a daddy, so it would lend family interest to the article.

A sense of contentment bathed Whitney as she remembered celebrating Christmas as a child. Rather than there being a specific memory of past holidays, she felt it more as an overall sense of well-being, of love.

Those thoughts brought her directly to the love that God had shown when he’d sent His son into the world so long ago. That was the basis of her love of Christmas. Pleasant family experiences merely grew from the core of her heavenly Father’s amazing gift.

Reaching the door to the flower shop she paused to send a silent “Thank You, God,” into the wintry sky.

In the deep reaches of her subconscious there was a stirring of another sentiment. Another reason to give thanks.

As she probed her thoughts, an image appeared. It was the smiling face of Josh Smith.

Chapter Three

Josh was torn between phoning Coraline to try to learn what Whitney was up to and leaving well enough alone. Given the determination of the cute reporter and her parting comment about visiting his Save Our Streets mentor, he decided to place the call. What was the worst that could happen?

“She could figure out who I am,” he muttered. He could have disclosed his real name and purpose for coming to Bygones long ago, but once he did so he knew his comfortable niche in the community would disappear. He’d had enough experiences with prior efforts at philanthropy to know that there was no way to remain disengaged without hiding his true identity. No matter how hard people tried to treat him fairly, his money made a difference. A detrimental difference in too many cases.

Coraline’s phone rang seven times before an answering machine took the call. Okay. So much for picking her brain. He’d just have to ask a few of the other merchants if Whitney had been snooping around and what, if anything, she had said about ferreting out the secrets behind the grant.

Matt Garman, the teenager whom he’d hired for afternoons so he could work on his programming without being interrupted, had reported on time and was already busy behind the counter filling drink orders.

The poor kid’s widowed father was a missionary in Turkey, so Matt lived with his grandparents, pastor Hugh Garman and his wife, Wendy. Giving the kid a job at the Cozy Cup Café had definitely helped Matt become more social. Josh could see a lot of his younger self in the tall, shy sixteen-year-old.

“Matt, you hold down the fort,” he said cheerfully as he shed his apron. “I’ve got a few errands to run. Call my cell if you need anything.”

“Yes, sir, Mr. Smith.”

Pulling on his leather bomber jacket, Josh smiled. Hearing himself called Smith instead of Barton still startled him occasionally. By the time he sold the Cozy Cup and returned to St. Louis full-time, he wondered if he’d react the same way when someone at Barton Technologies used his real name?

He turned up his collar the minute he stepped outside. Wind was howling. Holiday banners flapped from the lampposts. The decorations were way too flamboyant for his tastes but he’d stayed silent when the merchants had voted to let Lily design and implement the holiday theme so the street’s décor would be coordinated.

Josh had to agree with his father in that respect. The minimalist approach appealed to his senses more. He’d grown up with the perfect, white, conical tree decorated with strategically placed red ornaments and little else other than a matching door wreath. Anything more seemed way over the top.

Pausing in front of the flower shop he stomped clinging, wet snow off his boots before he entered. He had thought his shop was overly festooned until he saw what she had done with her own. The Christmas motif was not only occupying every available space on her display shelves, she had draped so many streamers and so much tinsel from the ceiling he had to fight the urge to duck.

“Hi, neighbor,” Lily called, able to see his reflection in the curved mirror she’d rigged between the display area and her workroom. “What’s up? I just got in some live poinsettia plants but if you take them out in this weather they’ll have to be wrapped well or they’ll go into shock and die for sure.”

“I’m good on decorations,” Josh assured her, wondering where she thought he’d find room for one more unnecessary thing in his already cramped store.

He sauntered around the edge of the counter and into her work space. “I just wondered if you’d had a visit from Whitney. She’s been bugging me about our grants again.”

Lily nodded and smiled. “She was here. Last I saw of her she was headed down the street, acting like she was on a mission.”

“That’s normal. What did she say to you?”

Lily laughed. “What didn’t she say? She is one determined lady when it comes to her job. Apparently, she saw a Christmas greeting from our benefactor at the bakery and wanted to see if I got the same one.”

“You showed her?”

“Sure. I’m keeping all my cards as mementos of my first year in Bygones. I may eventually make a scrapbook. I’ve just been too busy so far.”

“Which is a good problem to have,” Josh observed. “I saw the special arrangement you made for the church last Sunday. Very impressive.”

“Thanks. It’s one of the ways I thank God for bringing me here and helping me find the perfect husband.” She was grinning broadly. “Which reminds me. Tate wanted me to ask you if you have time to fix his home computer. We’re not looking for a handout. He’ll be glad to pay.”

“That’s not necessary,” Josh assured her. “Like I always say, it’s just a hobby.”

“Okay, but if you change your mind...”

“Have him drop it by the Cozy Cup anytime.” He had started backing toward the door. “And speaking of business, I’d better get back to mine.”

“Watch your step. It’s slippery out there.”

With a casual wave, Josh strode to her door and stepped outside. He looked up and down the street. No sign of Whitney. He checked his cell, saw no new text messages and turned toward the hardware store. At least it and the pet shop beyond had male proprietors. Their take on Whitney’s queries might be more logical than that of the women involved.

Then, if his gut was still tied in knots after talking to Patrick and Chase, he’d stop in at Allison True’s bookstore on his way back to work. Whitney Leigh wasn’t the only person who could be tenacious.

* * *

It seemed odd to Whitney that each shopkeeper, no matter what their wares, had received an identical greeting card. The letters of encouragement in the past had been more detailed, more personally suitable. These cards were nonspecific to the point of being almost insulting.

She handed Allison’s back and shook her head. “Thanks. That didn’t help at all.”

“I was afraid it wouldn’t. Sam said the same thing.”

Allison’s reference to her rekindled romance with high school math teacher and coach, Sam Franklin, set Whitney’s teeth on edge. There was no escape. She felt as if she was trapped in a snow globe made up of the perfect little town and its perfect, tiny residents. If she hadn’t feared being thought of as callous she might have quoted a famous Dickens character and said, “Bah! Humbug!”

When Allison turned to replace the card in the basket she was using to collect them, Whitney almost burst out laughing. The slogan printed on the back of her T-shirt echoed those exact words.

“Love your shirt,” Whitney said with a chuckle. “It fits my mood perfectly after spending the afternoon chasing down clues and coming up empty-handed.”

“Maybe I have something else that will help,” the dark-haired woman offered. She reached into the bottom of the basket and produced an empty envelope. “I saved this.”

“What is it?”

“There’s no return address but the postmark is St. Louis, Missouri. That’s where the card came from.”

“Really?” Whitney snatched it from her so she could closely examine it. “I wonder if anyone else saved theirs.”

“I doubt it. I’m kind of funny that way. I hate to throw things away until I’m sure I don’t need them.” She giggled. “I still have an old photo of Sam that his sister, Lori, took when she and I were teenagers.”

Sam again. Romance again. Whitney rolled her eyes before thinking, happy to note that Allison had apparently not noticed.

“Mind if I keep this?” she asked, taking care to school her features and appear professional.

“No. Not at all. I hope it helps you.”

“Thanks,” Whitney said, tucking the envelope into her tote. “I’ve been to all the other new businesses but I’m going to go back and ask if any of them saved envelopes like you did, just in case they’re not all the same.”

“Have fun,” the willowy brunette said. “I can see why you’d want to visit Josh again. If I wasn’t so in love with my Sam I’d join you.”

“I only go there for coffee. And for information,” Whitney insisted, “although I sure don’t get much of the latter.”

It was Allison’s turn to roll her eyes. Whitney ignored her. There was only one newcomer not yet spoken for. Josh Smith. She was well aware of his single status. She was also aware that there was a standoffish quality to his persona that kept others at arm’s length. Whether that was true of everyone or mostly applied to the way he related to her was of no importance.

His actions had been clear. He was barely willing to carry on a meaningful conversation with her, let alone open up and share any confidences. As far as Whitney was concerned, that meant he was interesting without being interested. Particularly in her case.

Well, fine. He could be as closemouthed as he pleased. She’d work around his reticence this time, just as she had in the past. His would be the last shop she would recheck, and when she did, she intended to hang around until he at least showed her the greeting card he had received.

Josh saw his nemesis returning—and she looked more determined than ever. That was not a good sign.

“I’ll be in the back,” he told Matt. “If anyone asks for me, tell them I’m busy.”

“But...”

Without waiting to hear what else the teen had to say, Josh ducked into the computer gaming area and passed through it to the back room. It was here that he did his repairs, reserving his upstairs living quarters for the real work that paid his bills—and supported the large staff of Barton Technologies, as well.

When he had first come to Bygones he had tried to design software on the ground floor. Since it was too hard to concentrate when he had to keep stopping to brew fancy coffee drinks, he had eventually left the workshop area to serve as a diversion and moved his serious business to his second-floor apartment.

Listening at the curtained doorway he heard Whitney’s voice. “Hi, Matt. How’s it going?”

“Good, Ms. Leigh. What can I get for you? We just got another fresh delivery from the bakery. How about something sweet?”

“No, thanks,” she replied, sounding a bit disgruntled. “I was hoping to catch your boss. Have you seen him lately?”

“Um...yes, but he said he was pretty busy.”

Josh peeked past the edge of the curtain in the doorway and saw Whitney’s face. Her brow was knit, her head cocked to one side as she studied the teenager through those heavy-rimmed glasses of hers.

When she said, “Okay. I’ll wait,” Josh decided to step forward, show himself and get it over with.

“Looking for me?”

To his surprise and chagrin, the pretty reporter brightened and began to smile. “Yes!”

Josh did his best to appear relaxed and nonchalant as he sauntered toward her. “Well, you’ve found me. What’s up?”

He saw her scanning the shelves behind the counter where he kept his coffee supplies, cups and flavorings. She was apparently not finding whatever she was looking for, because her smile was fading and her expression was growing more and more intense.

“You don’t have any Christmas cards displayed.”

“No, I don’t. By the time the merchants’ decorating committee finished, there was barely room to function, let alone do it comfortably. I saw no reason to clutter up the place with more unnecessary paper.”

“But you kept your cards, didn’t you?” She stepped closer to him and he could feel the increasing tension.

Cards? She was looking for his Christmas cards?

The reason for her quest struck him like a physical blow. Of course! She meant the cards he’d had sent to the other merchants. And not to himself.

Feeling like a fool, particularly where the quick-witted reporter was concerned, he thrust his hands into his pockets and struck a casual pose. At least he hoped it was casual, because his gut was churning and he could feel perspiration developing on his forehead.

“I’m not very sentimental,” he said flatly.

“You celebrate Christmas, don’t you?”

“Of course. I went forward, accepted Pastor Garman’s invitation and joined the church.”

“I don’t mean that. How about customs and childhood remembrances? Didn’t your family celebrate with a tree and presents and things like that when you were young?”

Josh decided it was best to explain. Maybe then she’d stop expecting him to produce the nonexistent card.

“My father didn’t go in for a lot of sentimental stuff,” Josh said. “He preferred to look at Christmas as an opportunity to further his business interests, and my mother abided by his wishes. Putting wrapped gifts under his fancy, decorator tree would have spoiled the artistic effect.”

“That is so sad,” Whitney said softly, laying her hand gently on his forearm.

The tenderness in her response caught him unawares and gave him the feeling that her empathy could reach all the way into his heart if he let it.

“Not really,” Josh insisted, stepping back just enough to escape her tender touch.

She dropped her hand. “You referred to him in the past tense. Is your father living?”

“No. He passed away just over two years ago.”

“What about your mother? Are you planning to go home for Christmas or is she coming here to Bygones?”

“Neither,” he said soberly. “My mother is wisely going on a cruise with friends. I’m delighted to see her finally making a new life for herself.”

“And you have no siblings?”

He couldn’t decide where Whitney was going with these questions but since he had already revealed so much he decided he might as well continue. “I was an only child.”

“Oh, dear.”

Josh huffed. “You don’t have to look so solemn, Ms. Leigh. I assure you, I don’t need anything beyond my own company to be content—no matter what day it is.”

Instead of arguing with him the way he had expected her to, she stared. He could see her eyes glistening.

A solitary tear tipped over her lower lashes and slowed as it passed the rim of her glasses.

Whitney whisked it away and smiled, although Josh was certain it was an effort for her to do so. “Well, you’ve promised to bring hot drinks to the tree-lighting ceremony on Saturday so I guess I’ll see you there. Right?”

“Of course.”

She held out her hand as if wanting to shake his. What could he do? He accepted her friendly overture.

The moment their fingers touched, however, he felt a surge of emotion that went straight to his heart and sent warmth flowing through and around him as if an invisible blanket now encompassed them both.

His first mistake had been taking her hand. His second was looking directly into her eyes and recognizing their emotional connection.

Time stopped. It was as if they were totally alone in the midst of the coffee shop, even though Matt was currently waiting on another customer.

More moisture sparkled in Whitney’s eyes and Josh sensed his own vision beginning to cloud. He was a practical man, just like his father had been. So what in the world was wrong with him? He didn’t need anything but his work to be content. He was planning to sell out and leave Bygones soon. His company needed him back in the home office.

Besides, maudlin sentiment was not a part of his makeup. Nor did he need sympathy. He liked his life as it had been. He knew who he was and where he belonged. Period.

Whitney was the first to break contact. Blinking, she turned away and started for the door.

As Josh watched her leave he was struck by a sense of loss beyond anything he had experienced in the past. Common sense had nothing to do with it.

And that was what scared him all the way from the top of his head to his toes.

If he could no longer rely on pure logic to answer his questions and direct his life, what else was there?

Chapter Four

Whitney felt like patting herself on the back as she carried the pink bakery box from her car to the park Saturday evening. It had taken monumental self-control to keep from opening it at home and having just one or two tastes of the goodies within. Knowing herself well, she had refrained from breaking the tape holding the flaps closed. In her opinion, there was no such thing as having only one cookie.

Besides, it was the Christmas season. If a girl couldn’t break a few diet rules now, when could she?

That thought brought a wide smile, as did the friendly waves of others who were arriving early to set up for the event. Spotting Coraline standing at a long table next to the fence surrounding the snow-blanketed community garden plot, Whitney headed straight for her.

The decorating committee had outdone itself once again. Every tree, whether evergreen or deciduous, was festooned with twinkling lights, apparently powered by the library on one side of the park and Elwood Dill’s Everything store on the other. The lights decorating the gazebo where the carolers would soon gather were reflected off the glassy, half-frozen waters of the nearby pond, making the surface glimmer as if glazed with silver and dotted with diamonds.

In the center of the park, between the fallow garden and the playground, stood a stately fir. Whitney remembered it as being very tall when she was a child but of course she and the tree had both grown since then. The evergreen had been planted long before her birth by descendants of Bygones’s founders, Saul and Paul Bronson, whose legendary feud over a woman had led them to finally settle there and let bygones be bygones. Hence the town’s unusual name and its motto, Family First.

Coraline greeted her with a wide grin and reached for the bakery box. “Thank you so much, dear. I’m afraid my volunteer elves are planning on eating more than they pass out. We’re going to need every spare cookie.”

“Well, I didn’t nibble,” Whitney told her, “but I was tempted. Melissa’s place smells so much like Christmas it made me really crave a taste.” She scanned the park, noting that daylight was rapidly fading. “Where’s the hot cocoa going to be set up?”

“Looking for a certain handsome barista?”

Whitney scowled. “Of course not. I was just wondering if he’d need power and how we’d get it to him.”

“Ah, yes. I see.”

“Well, I was.”

“Whatever you say, dear.” Coraline handed Whitney a tray of neatly arranged cookies. “Why don’t you put those over there on the end of the second table and stand guard so the kids don’t grab them ahead of time?”

“Over there?” Whitney inclined her head to point since she had her hands full.

“Yes,” Coraline said sweetly. “Right next to where I told Josh to park his van.”

* * *

Inching into the park with Matt Garman seated beside him, Josh leaned over the wheel to peer through the frosty windshield. He’d been to Bronson Park often enough, helping with the community garden project and other things, to know where he was going. Still, he didn’t want to damage the grass. There wasn’t enough snow to make traveling dangerous, just slippery going if he wasn’t cautious.

He flashed his headlights on high beam.

“Over there.” Matt pointed. “See? By the fence.”

“Got it.” Josh could see long tables decked with food, and people gathering around them. There was Coraline. And that looked like Melissa and Brian arriving, too.

At the closest end of the line stood an unmistakable figure wearing a familiar coat, scarf and gloves. Whitney Leigh. Josh gritted his teeth. If that nosy reporter was working with Miss Coraline, there was no telling what leading questions she’d feel free to ask before the evening was over.

As he eased the van to a stop at the end of the last table, Josh spoke to Matt. “I’ll keep the supplies coming. You’ll be in charge of serving.”

“Yes, sir.”

Josh bailed out and zipped his leather jacket, noting the misty clouds that his warm breath made when he exhaled into the frigid, evening air.

He circled the white van and slid open the door displaying the Cozy Cup Café logo. It was done in two shades of brown with a cup and saucer as the base. Rising from the cup, like wafting aroma, were ribbons of steam that connected here and there to spell out the name of his specialty coffee shop. Since he had designed the graphic himself, via computer, he was particularly proud of it.

Matt waved to Whitney and the others, then got busy setting up a smaller table containing stacks of foam cups and napkins.

Inside the van, Josh had warmers to keep large containers of rich hot chocolate at serving temperature. They weren’t going to offer their usual coffee menu, not even regular Kona coffee. It would be impossible to protect it from turning bitter if they brewed it ahead of time, particularly since he didn’t have enough special air pots to hold all they’d need.

Because he had done the prep work back at his shop, it only took him a few more minutes to get everything ready. The park was beginning to fill with an amazing number of celebrants; adults and children. Some were standing still and rubbing cold hands together while others, particularly the younger ones, were racing back and forth between the playground area and the cookie tables.

Matt drew cup after cup of cocoa, adding a squirt of whipped cream as he served them. He even made a special effort to hurry over and present a cup to Whitney when he had a spare moment, although Josh did also see him exchange a handful of cookies for the drink.

He was so deep in thought about the enigmatic reporter he failed to notice Matt’s approach.

“Excuse me, Mr. Smith?” the young man said, poking his head in the door past the stainless steel warmers.

“Whoa! You startled me. What’s wrong? Are we low on something? Do you need more cups? More whipped cream?”

“No, sir. It’s the choir. My grandpa’s about to pray and start the singing. They’re real short of tenors. Would you mind if I sang with them like I do for church?”

What could Josh say? “Of course not. Go. I can handle this by myself for a while. Just come on back when you’re done, if you can.”

“Thanks!”

The wide, relieved grin on the youth’s face gave Josh a really good feeling. He might not be used to this kind of seasonal celebrating, but there were clearly plenty of others who were. Of course, a preacher’s grandson would be among them.

Josh slid out of the van and slammed the passenger side door. He’d left his gloves back at the shop and his hands were freezing now that he was fully outside, so he rubbed them together for warmth before stuffing them in his jacket pockets.

A feminine voice at his elbow asked, “Cookie?”

He whirled, expecting Whitney. It was Coraline, instead. “Thanks. I didn’t have time for supper.”

“Well, these aren’t good for you if you don’t eat anything else,” she lectured, adding a smile to prove she was teasing. “Take two. The oatmeal raisin ones should be filling.”

He did as she’d suggested. “Thanks. How much longer before the mayor lights the big tree?”

“Probably a couple of ‘Silent Night’s and a ‘Noel’ or two,” she said, gesturing toward the assembling choir. “Maybe half an hour.”

“Okay. Good to know.” He stomped his feet. “Man, it’s cold out here.”

“It’s not so bad if you keep moving. What were you doing? Hiding in the van?”

“No, ma’am. I was minding the hot cocoa supply while Matt served.”

“Where did he run off to?”

“The church needed a tenor, or so he claimed. I suspect he may have a girlfriend in the group.”

“Probably. He is sixteen.” Coraline was smiling benevolently. “Tell you what. I’ll loan you one of my helpers until Matt gets back.”

“That won’t be necessary...” She was already hurrying away. To Josh’s chagrin, she stopped next to Whitney and began speaking to her. He couldn’t hear their conversation but he did see her put down the plate of cookies and start waving her arms before pivoting to point right at him.

Of all the hundreds of people available in the park that night, Coraline was choosing to send Whitney! If he didn’t know better, he’d suspect some kind of devious, female conspiracy.

* * *

“Are you sure?” Whitney asked her former principal. “I don’t think Josh likes me very much.”

“Likes, shmikes,” Coraline taunted. “The poor guy lost his only helper and once the singing is over he’s likely to have so many folks wanting hot drinks again he’ll be snowed under.” She giggled. “Pun intended. I can’t remember the last time Bygones had snow this early in the year.”

“I think I was still in high school,” Whitney told her. “We got out of class early and ran around on the playground trying to make snowballs out of whatever we could scrape up.”

“I remember that day.” The older woman was grinning. “Well, what’re you waiting for? Go help the helpless, like the Good Book says.”

Whitney doubted anyone else had ever thought of Josh Smith as helpless. She certainly didn’t. He was so capable, so organized, it was uncanny. Almost scary, if she let herself dwell on it.

Admiring the man’s accomplishments wasn’t wrong, she reasoned, it was simply unnerving that she was unable to temper her burgeoning appreciation of everything he said and did.

Providing refreshments for an entire town, for instance. In the past, several service clubs and churches had banded together to prepare a couple of large batches of hot cider or cocoa, but it was nothing like Josh’s. He was serving the very best he had. And that had raised her opinion of him another notch.

She didn’t have to work to greet him with a broad smile. “Reporting for duty. Miss Coraline says you can use some help over here.”

“It was nice of her to worry about me but I’ve got this. Honestly. Once it’s set up it’s not hard to manage.”

“Then I’ll just hang around and entertain you while we wait and see if you need me.” The befuddled expression on his handsome face made her laugh. “Don’t worry. I promise not to cook.”

“Is that a good thing?” he asked.

“Oh, very good. I remember one time, when I was about twelve, I decided to make a special Christmas morning breakfast to surprise my family. After the fire department came, Dad took Mom and me out to eat way up in Manhattan. It was nearly noon by that time. We had to stay out of the house until they cleared it of smoke.”

“You’re joking, right?”

That question brought more laughter. “Nope. Totally serious. I was trying to bake a coffee cake, hit the wrong button on the range and locked the door on the self-cleaning oven. There was no way to get it open early and that coffee cake was a cinder by the time the system finished its full cycle. Pretty much ruined the baking pan I’d used, too.”

She was delighted to see that her true tale had amused the barista. He took his hands out of his pockets, sidled behind her and dramatically blocked access to his van with his body and outstretched arms.

“In that case, maybe it would be best if you just handed out napkins and I did the rest,” Josh said with a melodramatic smirk.

“My thoughts, exactly.” Whitney loved to tell stories, making her perfect for her chosen profession. The more she mulled over her past Christmases, the more her spirits rose.

“Most of the time, Mom kept me out of the kitchen,” she said. “I must admit it was a relief.” She slipped off one glove, held out her hand and pointed to a faint scar on her index finger. “This is from the time I was helping slice tomatoes and I didn’t know Dad had sharpened Mom’s knives.”

Josh just shook his head.

“And this one,” she added, choosing another small scar, “is from trying to chop kindling wood at summer camp when I was about eight. That was in my pretend pioneer phase. Only I wanted to be the one out hunting buffalo, not the one staying behind at the covered wagon to bake biscuits.”

To her surprise, Josh reached for her hand and cradled it gently. His touch was light, yet Whitney felt the effects of it all the way from the top of her head to her toes.

With the fingers of his opposite hand he traced the scars as if the injuries were fresh and he was seeking to heal them. “Sounds like you were as fearless back then as you are now,” he said softly.

Whitney was rendered speechless. She opened her mouth but no sound escaped. The timbre of his voice was low, enthralling, and when he raised his gaze to meet hers she felt shivers dance along her spine. Was she truly fearless? If so, she was selective in her courage because right now, at this precise moment, she felt as if she might keel over in a dead faint.

It was the thought of that kind of embarrassment that brought her to her senses. She pulled her hand from his. Stepped back. Managed a smile, although she was unsure whether it was convincingly constructed or ludicrous.

“Thanks, I think.” Pivoting to face the music, she urged him to do the same. “Listen. You can hear Matt’s voice. It’s beautiful.”

When Josh didn’t comment she turned back to him and was startled by his strange expression. He was staring, not at the gazebo where the singers were massed, but at her.

The icy night air was so electrified between them, Whitney half expected to see real sparks arcing like the impressive emissions of lightning from a Jacob’s ladder in a physics lab.

The park and its occupants faded into the background.

The sound of the music drifted away.

Twinkling lights in the trees blurred until they were nothing more than a faint glow.

Whitney saw Josh take a purposeful step toward her. She held her breath, wondering what he was planning to do.

He slowly raised one hand and drew his finger down the side of her cheek as if he were tracing her portrait and needed to outline it perfectly.

She trembled but stood her ground.

Their eyes met. Gazes held.

Josh’s quirky, half smile was only for her.

“Matt’s voice isn’t the only beautiful thing,” he whispered. “There’s something about you tonight that I’ve never noticed before. Something very special.”

So nervous she could barely think, let alone come off sounding lucid and intelligent, Whitney employed her usual method of self-defense. She resorted to humor.

“Must be the cookies,” she quipped. “I am so full of sugar I should be climbing the walls.” She offered a playful smile. “Except we’re outside and there aren’t any. Walls, I mean.”

Josh’s laugh sounded uneasy, as if he were just as glad as she was to end their extraordinary moment. “In that case, see if you can find me a couple of the same kind you ate, will you? I suspect I may need all the energy I can muster to keep up with the workings of your brain.”

“Cookies won’t help,” Whitney told him with a wide grin. “I may be a lousy cook but I have a mind like a steel trap.” She was chuckling. “Of course, there are times when its jaws snap shut for no reason and I forget to reset it.”

Josh was shaking his head in the wake of the inane analogy. He turned away and climbed back into the van, ostensibly to check the warmer, leaving Whitney standing alone by the serving table.

Why had she made a silly joke about a very nice compliment? Why was it so hard to accept one coming from Josh? Was it because their previous encounters had been so fraught with tension? Or could it be because she was starting to like him far too much and realized how little she really knew about him?

Either was possible. Only one had a solution. If he continued to hide his past she would have to start digging deeper and casting a wider net, excuse the clichés.

The hardest part of her plan would be accepting whatever she discovered, when all she really wanted was to return to the moment when he had touched her and relive it, over and over and over.

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