On a Snowy Night: The Christmas Basket / The Snow Bride. Debbie Macomber

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

      He nodded.

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

      “And you,” he said.

      They both grew quiet.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      “The same thing you are.”

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

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

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

      “Mary, hello.”

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

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

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

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

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

      “You know the Willises?”

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

      Sarah’s expression was glacial. “Oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

      Mary reached for one herself.

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

      Sarah grabbed a skateboard.

      “How generous you are,” Janice commented, eyes widening as she observed their behavior. СКАЧАТЬ