It's That Time of Year. Christine Wenger

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       Chapter One

      “When is this going to be over?” Melanie Bennett mumbled to herself as she adjusted her thick woolen mittens. If one more person shook her hand, hugged her or pressed a cold-lipped kiss to her frozen cheeks, she was going to scream.

      It was the Saturday after Thanksgiving and the entire population of Hawk’s Lake had turned out for the lighting of the Christmas tree, the traditional kickoff to the annual Snow Festival. This year Melanie and her son, Kyle, would be lighting the tree in her husband’s memory.

      She was grateful for everyone’s support, but she didn’t want to talk about Mike anymore. It was too hard trying not to remember.

      And she dreaded having to be in such close proximity to Samuel LeDoux, former Canadian hockey star and alleged expert in disaster recovery operatives for the Red Cross.

      Unfortunately for her, Mayor Lippert had asked him to be the grand marshal of the Snow Festival. He was the overwhelming favorite, because he’d helped out during the horrific ice storm that had hit upstate New York last winter, and everyone in the village thought Sam LeDoux was a hero.

      Everyone except her.

      Someone jostled Melanie, and then she in turn bumped into someone else. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a white foam cup flip in the air and hit the ground. When she looked up, she saw wisps of steam rising from a dark stain on the front of the red parka of the attractive man next to her.

      “Oh, I’m terribly sorry. I made you drop your coffee.” She pulled off a mitten, found a tissue in the pocket of her jacket and began blotting his parka. He looked down at her in amusement, his blue eyes twinkling.

      And immediately she felt drawn to him.

      Melanie could barely think. She was busy looking at his strong jaw with a hint of a beard, and the tan that made his teeth look whiter. His lips formed a perfect smile, and she could tell he was in excellent shape in spite of the bulky parka.

      She dropped her hand before she wore a hole through him. “Sorry. It’s the mother in me. I’m used to wiping up spills on an hourly basis.” Her face flamed in spite of the freezing temperatures.

      “No harm done.” He chuckled. “It’ll dry, and it’ll wash out.” His deep voice, with a hint of an accent, enveloped her like a warm blanket. “Big crowd here, isn’t there?”

      “I’ve never seen so many people in Hawk’s Lake at one time. Must be a record.”

      The stranger bent over to pick up the cup just as a Boy Scout appeared holding out a trash bag. He tossed it in.

      “I’m going to get another cup of coffee,” he said. “Would you like anything?”

      “It’s on me,” Melanie shouted, as the six-piece band from Moose Lodge #814 played a much too loud and painfully slow rendition of “Jingle Bells.” The crowd huddled around the white octagonal bandstand burst into song, making it even harder to carry on a conversation. And for whatever СКАЧАТЬ