Her Montana Christmas. Arlene James

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      “Of course. Which leads me to my second question.”

      “And that is?”

      “Are you free on Saturday for gathering greenery?”

      “This Saturday?”

      “It’s December 2, Miss Frazier. I’d like to schedule a Hanging of the Green service for a week from tomorrow. We have no time to lose, and you know exactly what sort of greenery people would have gathered a hundred years ago.”

      She looked around the vestibule before glancing at him once more and nodding.

      “Saturday would be fine.”

      “I’ll pick you up about 9:00 a.m., then. If you’ll just tell me where you live.”

      “Oh.” Smiling, she lifted a finely boned hand to press a fingertip to that exquisite little mole beneath her eyebrow. “That would help, wouldn’t it? I’ve taken a kitchenette at Fidler’s Inn. Room six, on the ground floor.”

      “Room six,” he repeated. “Um, if you have hiking boots, you might want to wear them.”

      “I can do that.”

      “And jeans probably wouldn’t hurt.”

      “I can do that, too.”

      “Okay, then.”

      She nodded, and they stood there smiling at each other until she suddenly said, “Well, I’d better grab something to eat and get back to work.”

      “Sure, sure.” He cleared his throat, nodding. “Thanks so much for dropping by.”

      “Thanks for showing me your view.”

      “Anytime.” She started toward the outer door, reaching into her pocket for her gloves, but he called her back. “Uh, Robin. The bell thing. I’ve told some others that I’m cleaning up the area and doing some research, but I’d really like to keep my plans quiet until Christmas Eve,” he reminded her.

      “That’s fine,” she told him. “Whatever you want.”

      Grinning, he couldn’t resist ribbing her a little. “Whatever I want, eh?”

      “Within reason,” she retorted through a smile.

      “I’m a very reasonable man,” he said, straight-faced.

      “What you are, Pastor Ethan Johnson,” she said, shaking a dainty finger at him, “is a tease.”

      “Maybe a little bit,” he admitted, smiling, “at least with you. It’s just that you’re so very serious. Sweet but serious.” And he should learn to keep his mouth shut. Her blue gaze clouded and skidded away.

      Long seconds ticked by before she said, “I have to go.”

      He followed her to the door, wondering if he shouldn’t enlist someone else to help gather the greenery and knowing he wouldn’t. “Goodbye, Robin.”

      “Goodbye, Ethan,” she whispered. He’d have missed it if the acoustics in the room hadn’t been so extraordinary.

      She pushed out into the December sunshine. He followed, calling after her as her footsteps fell swiftly across the plank walkway, “Nine o’clock, Saturday. Don’t forget.”

      “I won’t.”

      He watched her walk away, wondering if God was telling him that the past could finally be put away once and for all. Or had he come to Jasper Gulch to make another hideous mistake?

      * * *

      Robin did not next see Ethan Johnson on Saturday as she assumed she would; she saw him on Thursday evening. He called that day to say that he’d put together a committee to plan, design and construct decorations for the church, but because the ladies felt they hadn’t a minute to lose, they wanted to meet that night. What could she say, that she’d rather not see him again so soon because she found him entirely too attractive for her peace of mind? Of course, she said that she would attend the meeting, and then she prayed for some way to get out of it.

      While she was mentally sorting through excuses, her landlady, Mamie Fidler, stopped by her room to say that she was on the committee, too, and going to the meeting.

      “Might as well head over there together. No sense in both of us burning gasoline.”

      Sixtyish, single and no-nonsense, Mamie Fidler wore hiking boots, denim skirts and flannel shirts year-round everywhere she went, even to church. She had “decorated” the Fidler Inn with utilitarian hominess, so Robin was somewhat surprised that Ethan had recruited her for the committee. On the other hand, Mamie was handy with all sorts of tools, including fishing poles and skinning knives, and she was brutally efficient.

      “I’ll drive,” Robin volunteered.

      “I’ll get my gear. You got a slicker?”

      “I’m afraid not.”

      “Too bad,” Mamie opined, shaking her head.

      That was how Robin found herself rushing through a light but wet snowfall in twenty-degree weather over a boardwalk dusted with a mixture of rock salt and sand toward a rectangle of light in the darkness. The door in the education wing of the building opened well before they reached it, and Ethan rushed out, armed with an umbrella. Mamie, covered head to ankle in a shapeless water-repellent poncho, plowed ahead, disappearing into the hallway.

      “I’m so sorry,” Ethan told Robin, shaking off the umbrella before collapsing it and pulling it in behind them so he could close the door. “The skies were gray earlier, but the weather forecast didn’t call for snow.”

      “The weather bureau should consult Mamie.”

      “I’m sure that’s true,” he agreed with a chuckle. “I find it wise to consult Mamie on a lot of things, like where’s the best place to find the greenery we’ll need and how to keep it from drying out too badly before Christmas comes.”

      Ah. Now things were making sense. “You’re a wise man.”

      He laughed. “Maintain that thought, will you?” Placing his warm hand at the small of her back, he applied light pressure, saying softly, “Come along and meet the others, but be forewarned. Some here are used to taking charge in every situation. In this, however, you are our guide. Understand?”

      She nodded absently. Even through the thickness of her coat, his touch unsettled her, so she set about nonchalantly peeling off the outer garment as they walked through the corridor to the meeting room. As soon as they reached their destination, he offered to take her things and stow them on a table with everyone else’s. Familiar faces turned from a second table set with muffins and a Crock-Pot of apple cider.

      In addition to Mamie Fidler, Robin recognized Allison Douglas, Rosemary Middleton and her daughter, Marie, Abigail Rose and Nadine Shaw, the mayor’s wife. Everyone greeted Robin and invited her to partake of the muffins, provided by Rosemary, who ran the СКАЧАТЬ