A Sing-ular Tradition; Part Three by Margo Hoornstra

A Sing-ular Tradition

Part Three  

A few times Derrick had walked into Kenzie’s office on his daily mail run and caught her wearing a wistful expression as she either gazed straight ahead or contemplated the ceiling. More often than not when he came through the doorway, she was too busy to even look up at him. With her head down and full attention focused on whatever task was at hand in front of her, she’d mumble a distracted thank you and that was it.

Though he always meant to talk to her, asking ‘what’s wrong?’ wasn’t the best way to open a conversation with someone you’d only just met. But, she wasn’t bent over a paper strewn desk now. At this moment, she was focused totally on him.

Dude, quit staring at her and use your advantage. He winced in response to the devil perched on his shoulder. Don’t rush me. I got this.

“How did you wind up in the sunshine state? Even though you hale from the north, you’re a little young to be a snowbird.”

“A job offer I couldn’t turn down arrived at just the right time. I needed to get away from things in my old life for a while.”

“What kind of things? Problems?”

The wistfulness returned to those big blue eyes as her gaze strayed away from him. His heart stuttered at the idea maybe he’d gone and destroyed their light-hearted mood. Caused her to call up old and maybe unpleasant memories.

“I was engaged. Briefly. Until I discovered my so-called fiancé was still married to someone else.”

“That had to hurt.”

“All I could think was how could he do that? To me was one thing, but to his wife? Not to mention the two innocent little girls I found out they had together.”

“I can relate. It’s been a pretty tough year for me too.”

“Why’s that?” Lowering her eyes, she took a hasty sip of punch. “It’s okay if you’d rather not say.”

“No. I don’t mind.” That she seemed to care enough to want to know spurred him on to share something he hadn’t told anyone around here. “I spent six seasons playing minor league baseball. As a pitcher.”

“That would explain your arm strength.” Eyes wide as if she’d just surprised herself, she took a breath. “Sorry.” As pink dotted her cheeks, she gave a little head shake, looked away then back at him. “Go on.”

“I was so confident my arm would take me to the big show and million dollar endorsement contracts. When that didn’t happen and I was unexpectedly cut from the team, I had no other life skills to fall back on.”

“One heck of a wake-up call, I’m guessing.”

“You have no idea.” He picked up their empty glasses and the napkin and tossed them into a nearby trashcan. “Then my wife left me for a teammate of mine. One of the guys who did make it to the big leagues with the million dollar perks.”

“Oh, Derrick, I’m so sorry.”

“Yeah. Thanks. Luckily we had no kids.”

“Even so, you’re no stranger to heartache.” She slid her hand over to cover his. “Like me.”

“So there you have it.” He immediately flipped his palm up in acceptance then twined his fingers with hers.  “More stuff we have in common.”

Have Yourself a Merry Little Christmas drifted over the patio. Deciding to go solo, Derrick picked up on the lyrics in a clear voice, mimicking as best he could the slow crooning style of Frank Sinatra’s velvety tenor.

When he came to the parts about troubles being gone, and the advice to lighten your heart, he leaned closer to Kenzie and lowered his voice for emphasis.

She rewarded him with a huge smile at the finish. “More instructions I need to pay attention to, I suppose.”

“Yes, you do.” His fingers tightened around hers.

“I’ll try.” Her wistfulness may have come back, but the sadness in her eyes was nowhere to be found. “I’m glad I came tonight, Derrick. If only for us to have a chance to get to know each other better.”

“My sentiments exactly.”

“Hey, Everyone. Santa will be here soon.” An unknown voice made the announcement before a raucous rendition of Here Comes Santa Claus erupted between them.

Derrick glanced toward the noise then back at her. “Shall we go inside? This is the point, or so I’ve been told, where they pass out little gag gift presents and we can all go home.”

“Go home.” The smallest hint of sadness was evident in her tone.

“I can tell you’re still a little homesick.”

She gave a half smile and nod. “Both my parents are back in Michigan. My two brothers and younger sister live nearby. The family should all be gathering at Mom and Dad’s tomorrow early to be together.”

Sympathy for her being away from the family she obviously loved tugged at his heart, and he had an overpowering urge to take her in his arms and make all the sadness in her life go away. Figuratively pitch every bad thing that had ever happened to her into some virtual trash heap somewhere. So he could fill the void with happiness and whatever else he had to offer.

“My last name is Winters, by the way.” He didn’t bother to release her hand as they stood. “If that helps to make you feel a little less homesick.”

“Actually I think it does.”

As they walked side by side, putting his arm around her waist seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do.

She glanced up at him and smiled, then slid her arm into place around him. “Merry Christmas, Derrick.”

“Merry Christmas, Kenzie. With many more to come.”

“For both of us, many more.”

Relishing the sound of their shared promises, he opened the door and ushered her in front of him then happened to look up. “Wait just a minute.”

“For what?”

Just inside the entrance he stopped then put both hands on her shoulders and turned her to face him. “We’ve come so far, wouldn’t want to break with tradition now.”

Brow furrowed in question, after a hasty glance upward, her frown cleared. A second sprig of Mistletoe hung above them. Eyes sparkling, she met his gaze and grinned. “No. We certainly wouldn’t want to do that.”

Those words coincided with both arms she brought to rest around his neck.

Her response was so swift, and couldn’t have been more perfect. Derrick smiled briefly as he closed his lips over hers. It wasn’t long before he was lost in the sweet and thorough enjoyment of a warm and inviting mouth.

This was the absolute last time he kissed anyone else under the mistletoe.

For good reason. No other kiss for the rest of his life could possibly surpass the wonder of this one.

 

 

For more about me and the stories I write, please visit my WEBSITE

Come back tomorrow and enjoy the first installment of All The Right Moves by Jannine Gallant.

The Holiday Season by Diane Burton

It’s official. The holiday season is upon us. Every year, I promise to start my Christmas shopping earlier. Then I get involved in a project—like finishing the darn book—and my promise goes the way of the Dodo bird. I did dog-ear catalogs that came in the mail this year. Found perfect gifts for some family members. Have I ordered them yet? Of course not. <groan>

My mother-in-law shopped all year round. She wrapped the gift in a plastic grocery bag and taped the name of the recipient to the bag so she would remember who she bought it for. When she passed, we found many gifts under her bed or on the shelf in a closet. Some even had dates (several years past) written along with the names. Hubs and I doled out the gifts, saddened that MIL never got to see the enjoyment the recipients expressed.

The PTO at the grandkiddies’ school had two bookfairs this year. I went to both when Daughter was working so she could tell me which books the kids would like and which ones they had, along with suggestions for the little one out in AZ. So I am sort of ahead on the gift purchasing. Sort of being the operative phrase.

As we get older, Hubs and I are at a loss as to get the other. He used to be easy to buy for. Power tools and woodworking machines were always a good bet. But now he has more than he needs. Gift cards to a hardware store sufficed for a while. Now I tell him to buy what he wants. He’ll ask what I want. My usual response is “I don’t know.” Real helpful, huh? Sometimes I’ll see something I like, buy it, and tell him he can give it to me. LOL Hey, it works.

I have more fun watching the kiddies open gifts than opening my own. Their delight fills me with warmth. Tossing gifts of clothing over their shoulders accompanied by rolling eyes makes me think of my favorite movie, The Christmas Story” aka “You’ll shoot your eye out.”

Decorating the house is becoming more of a challenge. The decorations are kept in big tubs in the basement. Carrying those tubs upstairs is too much for Hubs now. So he’ll make several trips over many days carrying the decorations upstairs. Not good. Maybe this weekend we can “borrow” the kiddies to do the running. One thing is a must, no matter how limited the decorations. The ceramic nativity set my mother.

Cards and the Christmas letter. Ever since our first move away from family (1981) Hubs has written a letter chronicling our year. Then he gives it to me to “clean up.” His spelling is, shall we say “original” and he must have slept through grammar classes. Since content outweighs mistakes, I try to keep the flavor of his words. Some in our family tell us they really enjoy our news. Nowadays so many are on Facebook, they already know everything we’ve done. Well, almost everything. LOL Getting a family picture from family and friends is my favorite thing. I love the letters, too, but seeing the little kids I used to know growing into adults is always fascinating. We have a great family picture I’ll be including this year.

As the end of the year approaches, I start making lists of what I want to accomplish the next year. Career-wise, I’ve made the same goal for the past three years: publish two full-length novels plus a novella. For two years, I managed the novels. This year, only the novella. Don’t know why I slowed down. Life, I guess. Lack of focus, maybe? For 2017, I’ll repeat my goal. Maybe this time I’ll get it right. If I don’t, oh well. I have other things to stress over.

Stress. An ugly word. For me, stress came when I tried to do too much. I had to make cookies. I had to buy the perfect gift. I had to clean. I had to decorate. Everything had to be just so. Letting go of those “had to do’s” made me calm and helped me enjoy the season. Now I do what I can and forget the rest. Makes life easier. Why is it that wisdom comes as we grow older?

Each December, we Roses have a tradition. Strictly voluntary, no have-to’s. LOL Our gift to you, our readers, is a collection of serialized short stories. Each story begins with the same first sentence. This year it’s “This was the absolute last time she kissed anyone under the mistletoe.” I am so looking forward to read what each Rose has written. My story will run from December 26 to the 28^th. It picks up where last year’s story ended and was a lot of fun to write.

Come back tomorrow for Margo Hoornstra’s “A Sing-ular Tradition.” I can’t wait.

Christmas Countdown! by Jannine Gallant

Since I'm tired of promoting my books and have no sales going on until next month, I thought I'd share our Roses of Prose holiday short story plans for this year. Every December, the majority of our authors post Christmas short stories for the entire month. And to make it a little more fun, we all begin our stories with the same first line. Of course choosing a line is all part of the excitement. Everyone threw out ideas and voted, narrowing the field to the top three choices then voted again to get a winner. This year the top three contenders were:

"You asked for a Christmas Miracle?"

This was the absolute last time she kissed anyone under the mistletoe.

She'd rather deck him than deck his halls.

I thought they were all great lines. But, the winning line was...drum roll...

This was the absolute last time she kissed anyone under the mistletoe.

I hope everyone will visit us in December to read our short stories. Is your interest sparked by our mistletoe kisses line?

We also need a title for our collection, which will be incorporated into the cover we use to promote our stories. We want our title to tie to our first line. For example, last year our first line was about a ringing phone, and our collection title was Ringing in the Holidays. So, think kisses or mistletoe... All suggestions are welcome. Load up the comment box for us!

To find out more about my books, check out my website.

Penguins, Pucks, and Pumpkin Pies - Chapter Three by Alison Henderson

Once a player, always a player. Ellie fumed as she rang up two pumpkin pies and one mincemeat for Kora Steiglitz, the mayor’s wife. It’s always the same with him. A tiny voice in her head told her Tyler couldn’t help it if females found him attractive. She shushed it immediately. She had more important concerns than Tyler O’Neil’s sex appeal.

Around two o’clock that afternoon she took advantage of a lull in business to down a cup of coffee, along with a bowl of yesterday’s blackberry cobbler, re-heated and topped with a dollop of whipped cream. Fortified, she gave Clare a quick call to fill her in on the meeting with Tyler. By six she could barely keep herself upright. She dragged her aching back and feet home and straight into a hot bubble bath, knowing full well she had to be back at Pearl’s Perfect Pies in less than twelve hours. Her chief assistant baker would be in the kitchen by four, and Ellie usually joined her at six.

It was still pitch black when she arrived at the pie shop the next morning, but several trucks were already parked in front of the building next door. Portable lights shone through the broken windows, and the sounds of saws and nail guns filled the early morning air. The crew must be hard at work. Tyler might be a self-involved womanizer, but no one could accuse him of being lazy.

Around mid-morning a gap-toothed, red-headed boy of about eleven strode through the door with a stack of papers under one arm. He waited while she rung up a candy apple pie for Elmer McPherson, then stepped up to the counter. He pulled off his hat and one glove and thrust his hand forward. Ellie smothered a smile as she shook his hand. He’d obviously been coached on how to present himself.

“Hello, I’m with the Pumpkinseed Lake Penguins, and we wanted to ask if you’d put one of our posters in your store.” He peeled one off his stack and held it out.

She took the poster and read:

Penguin Pick-Up Food Drive

For the benefit of the Pumpkinseed Lake Food Bank

We need the following items:

Turkeys

Stuffing Mix

Canned Green Beans

Rolls

Cranberry Sauce

Members of the Penguins will stop by your home or business

to pick up donations after 1:00 p.m. on December 23rd.

Thank you for your support!

She pressed her lips together. Not a bad plan for a meathead hockey player. By enlisting the help of the whole community, they would be able to stock the food shelf in a single afternoon.

She returned her attention to the boy, who waited for her answer with a serious expression on his freckled face. “I’ll be happy to help. Why don’t you give me two—one for the front window and one to put here by the cash register?”

“Sure. Thanks!” The boy grinned, handed her another poster, and hustled out the front door toward the next stop on his route.

The days leading up to Christmas were always the busiest of the year at Pearl’s. The bakers cranked out pies like a well-oiled machine, and Pearl put in extra hours behind the counter filling orders. This year Ellie spent every minute up to her elbows in pumpkin puree and cinnamon. Clare sent over several volunteers from the church to help, and together they filled the cooler with forty extra pies.

Ellie was almost too busy to notice the non-stop construction work going on next door. Almost. Tyler’s truck was hard to miss, parked at the curb each morning when she arrived at the shop well before dawn. And she told herself she was only being civic-minded when she sent a couple of the volunteers over with hot coffee and three whole pies every morning around eleven; she had no right to be disappointed when Tyler failed to appear for the follow-up meeting he’d proposed. After all, it wasn’t as if they’d made firm plans.

At nine o’clock on the morning of the twenty-fourth, Ellie left Pearl in charge of the store and rounded up three of the church volunteers to help transport the pumpkin pies next door. Although a small army of Penguins had swarmed through town gathering donations the day before, she’d kept the pies in the large commercial refrigerator at Pearl’s until an hour before the food bank planned to open for business.

When she stepped through the door with the first batch of pies, she froze and sucked in a breath. She couldn’t believe her eyes. It was impossible. Tyler and his crew had performed a Christmas miracle.

The charred, water-stained ceiling and walls had disappeared—replaced by fresh wood and newly-painted drywall.  New glass sparkled in the old window frames, and rows of custom-made shelves and cubbies filled the back wall. Even the scarred wooden floor had received a fresh coat of varnish. And they’d done it in less than a week. Her heart swelled, and she had to blink away a sudden sheen of moisture.

Across the room, Tyler and a flock of Penguins were busy organizing the food donations and packing them into boxes that each contained the fixings for a complete family meal. Ellie had taken no more than three steps into the room when one of the boys dropped a package of stuffing mix and zoomed toward her, hands outstretched.

“Let me take those for you, ma’am.”

She cringed. Ma’am. When did I become a ma’am? But she smiled and let him take the pies. Then Tyler glanced up and met her gaze. Her cheeks flushed at the warmth in his eyes. Get a grip. He probably looks at every female like that.

She stood unmoving while he finished the box he was packing and walked toward her with a smile. The temperature in the room shot up ten degrees, and she unzipped her parka. No wonder all the women melt at his feet.

“I want to thank you for the coffee and pie the last few days,” he said. “My guys really enjoyed it. I enjoyed it, too.”

Butterflies fluttered in Ellie’s stomach. “Pearl always said the fastest way to a man’s heart was a perfect piece of pie.” She regretted the words the second they slipped out.

Tyler grinned. “Pearl was right.”

The butterfly ballet became a flamenco. Unsure how to respond, she glanced around the room. “Your crew did a wonderful job with the place. I can’t believe how much you accomplished in such a short time.”

“Not too bad for a bunch of meathead hockey players, huh?”

Ellie’s face flamed and her jaw dropped. She closed her eyes and prayed for oblivion. Surely she’d never said that in front of him.

His grin widened. “Clare told me that’s what you used to call us in high school.”

“I…” What could she say?

“It’s okay. We probably were meatheads then.”

She dropped her gaze to the floor. “My judgement might have been clouded at the time. I was only fourteen.” Her voice dropped to a near whisper. “And I had a huge crush on you.”

“Really?”

Shoot. He’d heard her. Why had she let that slip? She shot a nervous glance toward the door. “Um, I have to get back to the store. I’ll see you around, I guess.”

When she turned to make her escape, he grabbed her hand. “Hey, you can’t drop a bombshell like that and run away. We’ve got things to discuss.” She shook her head, but he tugged her hand. “Come with me. I want to show you something.”

She scanned the room. Activity had halted. All eyes focused on them. The scrutiny of eight fascinated eleven-year-old boys sent chills down her spine. Time to beat a hasty retreat. “Okay.”

With a firm grip, Tyler led her to a storeroom in the back. It held the piney scent of new plywood but not much else.

He pulled her loosely into his arms, and his lips curved into an amused smile. “So you used to have a crush on me.”

She refused to meet his gaze. “Maybe. It was a long time ago.”

He nodded and drew her closer. “We’ve both changed since then.”

“Maybe.” He’d certainly changed, or at least her opinion of him had. She used to think he was a self-centered show-off. A gorgeous, self-centered show-off, but a self-centered show-off, all the same. The past week had shown her a new Tyler O’Neil—a thoughtful, generous, hard-working Tyler O’Neil.

“You used to be cute. Now you’re beautiful.”

She huffed in disbelief. Beautiful? What a bunch of… “I don’t—”

He touched a finger to her lips. “You are. I may have been a jerk in high school, but I’m trying to do better. And you may have been too young for me then, but you’re not too young now.”

Her insides began to melt. What was happening? She was quickly getting in over her head. Time for a distraction before the situation got out of hand. She glanced around the room. “You said you had something to show me. What is it?”

“This.” He lowered his head and planted a soft kiss on her surprised mouth.

When he released her, she tried to focus on his features, but the whole world seemed askew.

“So, are you willing to give me a chance?” he asked before he kissed her again, sealing her fate.

Her head was still spinning. “Mmm” was the only response she could muster.

His lips slid down to nuzzle her neck. “I’ll take that as a yes.”

Ellie leaned against his sturdy chest and allowed herself to kiss him back. It was so much better than anything she had imagined as a star-struck fourteen-year-old.

The sounds of whistles and applause entered her consciousness. Her eyes flew open, and Tyler’s arms tightened. Grinning Penguins and amused church ladies filled the doorway.

In the middle of them all stood Pearl. She pinned Ellie with a sharp glance, then winked.  “Didn’t I always tell you? Never underestimate the power of pie.”

This story appears in the collection Small Town Christmas Tales.

Penguins, Pucks, and Pumpkin Pies - Chapter Two by Alison Henderson

Eight hours later Tyler O’Neil parked his truck in front of Pearl’s Perfect Pies. He’d spent what remained of the night mopping up the fire with the rest of the crew, dragging himself home with just enough time for a quick shower before returning to meet Ellie Markusson. A bell over the door tinkled as he entered the old brick building, and Ellie glanced up from the cash register. The tight lines framing her mouth didn’t suggest she was glad to see him. Maybe she was just tired. He sure as heck was, and his knee ached like a bear.

She nodded to one of the small tables next to the front widow. “Have a seat. I’ll be with you as soon as I can.”

Tyler hobbled over, pulled out one of the old-fashioned bentwood chairs, and sat where he could watch her. Pearl’s wasn’t a restaurant, but they had a few tables for customers who wanted a slice of pie and a cup of coffee. It was smart marketing, because the tempting aromas of cinnamon and warm fruit made it impossible to walk out without wanting—no, needing—a bite, or two, or three.

He leaned back in the chair and crossed his arms while he watched Ellie greet the next customer. Her actions were brisk and efficient, her smile friendly and genuine. He hadn’t paid much attention to his sister’s best friend when they were growing up. The girls spent most of their time playing outside or holed up in Clare’s room, giggling about some silly thing or another. If he thought about them at all, it was with annoyance. Besides, he’d spent every waking hour outside of school on the ice.

But since he’d returned to Pumpkinseed Lake, he’d noticed Ellie Markusson plenty. Fifteen years ago, she’d been a cute, snub-nosed little kid with loads of freckles. She was still petite, but now she had curves in all the right places. She wore her thick, honey blond hair in a fashionable, chunky bob, and her freckles had faded to a delicate sprinkle across the tops of her cheeks. The few times he’d tried to talk to her she’d been as prickly as a cocklebur, but then he’d never been the kind of guy to walk away from a challenge.

While he was still pondering her granddaughter, Pearl Markusson walked around the end of the counter and approached, wiping floury hands on her long white apron. Tyler started to rise, but she placed a firm hand on his shoulder. Pearl was barely five feet tall, and the white braids that encircled her head like a crown gave her an angelic air, but it was an illusion. Pearl had always been a force to be reckoned with, and her stroke hadn’t changed that. She might only work a couple of hours a day now, but her presence helped keep Pearl’s the local landmark it had been for nearly fifty years.

“Good morning, Tyler. What can I get you? The apple is as good as always, and the pumpkin…well, you know about the pumpkin.”

He lifted a hand in a gesture of polite refusal. “Nothing for me, Mrs. Markusson. I’m just here to talk to Ellie about the food bank as soon as she gets a minute.”

Pearl cocked her head and regarded him with a sharp look. “When was the last time you ate?”

He hesitated. He’d had a bowl of chili at six the night before. Was that really fourteen hours ago? It had been a long night.

Pearl didn’t wait for an answer. “I’ll bring you a big slice of apple raisin pie and coffee. You look like you need it.”

He started to object but she had already turned and bustled off.

A few minutes later she was back with the pie and coffee, steam rising from both. Tyler swallowed and his stomach grumbled.

Pearl’s faded blue eyes gleamed, and her smile held a hint of the flirtatious young girl she’d once been. “Hah! I know a hungry boy when I see one.” She patted his shoulder and headed back to work.

He stabbed his fork into the flaky pastry and brought the first bite to his mouth. He closed his eyes and savored the scent of heaven. He’d eaten half the slice when Ellie appeared with a small notebook and pen in hand.

She pulled out the chair across from him and sat. “All right. Let’s make this as quick as possible. I’ve got plenty to do, as you can see.” She began writing. “I’ve already called the insurance company to get the ball rolling on the claim. That won’t help get the food bank operational by Christmas, though.” She lifted her head to meet his gaze and pressed her lips together. “I don’t suppose you have any ideas about what we can do in the meantime.”

Still as prickly as ever.

He wondered what it would take to change her attitude and tried a patented O’Neil smile. No dice.

He decided to set it aside for the time being and focus on the business at hand. “As a matter of fact, I do.” He leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table.  After we got the fire out last night, I did an inspection and inventory. With a little luck, I think we can repair the basic structure sufficiently to reopen for one day on Christmas Eve. Afterwards, they’d have to close again for a couple of months to finish the work but…” He shrugged.

She eyed him with skepticism. “That would be a blessing to the community and a huge relief to Clare and Karl, but I don’t see how it’s possible.”

“Winter is slow season for me and my crew. O’Neil Construction will donate the labor, and I’m sure I can get Hank at the lumber yard to help with materials. It’ll mean putting in long hours but we can do it.”

Pearl appeared out of nowhere with another slice of pie and a cup of coffee, which she plunked down in front of Ellie. “Here. You need a break.”

“You know I don’t take breaks,” Ellie protested.

“Maybe you need to start. Besides, it’s good for business to have a cute young couple in the front window.” She turned to Tyler with a smile before bustling off.

Tyler couldn’t suppress a grin as Ellie frowned at her grandmother’s receding back. “Pearl’s a pistol, isn’t she?”

When she faced him, her frown became a grimace. “Sorry about that. I love her dearly, but she gets these ideas.”

He liked the way her nose wrinkled when she said ideas. “What kind of ideas?”

She fumbled with her notebook and pen. “The great-grandchildren kind. Now where were we?”

It was probably childish, but some unidentifiable impulse pushed him to ruffle her feathers. “What about you? Don’t you want kids some day?”

“Sure, but right now we’re talking about the food bank.”

He speared another bite of pie. “I like kids.”

“Good for you.” Her tone was dry. “Now can we get back to business?”

He gave her an innocent smile. “That’s why I’m here.”

A tiny muscle flexed in her jaw before she returned her attention to her notes, and Tyler wondered if she was truly angry or trying not to smile.

“I’ll follow up on the insurance. You’ll get started on repairs.” She glanced up. “But what about food for the shelves? Even if we only stock them with holiday food for one day, we’ll still need enough to feed forty families. With help from the church ladies, Pearl’s can bake enough pumpkin pies, but what about everything else?”

An idea swirled around and coalesced in his mind. Tyler took a swig of coffee then set the cup on the table. “I’ve got it covered. This is a job for the Penguins.”

Ellie’s soft brown brows pinched together. “The Penguins?”

“My team.”

“But you’re retired.”

“I coach peewee hockey. My team is called the Penguins. We’ll take care of the rest of the food.”

She hesitated, raked him with an appraising glance, then closed her notebook. “Fine. I guess that covers it. If there’s nothing else, I need to get back to work.”

He had things to do, too, but found himself in no hurry to leave. “We should plan to meet again in a couple of days to touch base. Same time, same place?”

Before she could reply, two young women—girls, really—rushed toward the table.

“Tyler, it’s so great to see you,” one squealed.

“Are you going on the sleigh ride tonight?” the other asked, tumbling over her friend’s words. “Everyone will be there.”

Tyler gave her a rueful smile. “I’m afraid I have to work.”

The girl’s enthusiasm drained away, and her pretty young lips slid into a pout.

He sighed inwardly. He tried to be polite, but even after several years back in Pumpkinseed Lake, he still attracted an uncomfortable level of public attention. He’d grown used to it during his playing days, but how much longer would it take for people to let go of the past and accept him for what he was now?

He glanced away from the girls and realized Ellie had taken advantage of the distraction to slip away and return to the counter. When he managed to catch her eye, she froze then pointedly turned away and directed a glittering smile at her next customer—who just happened to be the town’s most eligible young attorney.

Well...damn.

This story appears in the collection Small Town Christmas Tales.

Penguins, Pucks, and Pumpkin Pies - Chapter One by Alison Henderson

A ringing phone at two in the morning never brought good news.

Ellie Markusson’s heart pounded as she fumbled for her phone on the bedside table. Was it her mom? Had something happened to Grandma Pearl? She’d seemed fine that morning, but at her age anything could happen.

Her pulse slowed when the caller ID showed Burkhalter instead of Markusson but sped up again almost immediately. Why would her best friend call in the middle of the night? Maybe it was the baby. Clare was eight-and-a-half months pregnant with her second child. Maybe she’d gone into labor and her husband Karl had been called away. That happened to ministers sometimes, didn’t it?

“Hello.” She was already plotting the fastest route from her friend’s house to the hospital in Eau Claire.

“Ellie?” Clare’s voice was high-pitched, on the verge of hysteria.

In the background, muffled shouts interspersed with a variety of thuds and bangs. “Clare, are you okay? Where are you?”

“I’m at the food bank. You’d better get down here.” Her friend’s voice wavered.

Ellie stumbled out of bed and flipped on the light. “What’s going on?”

“It’s on fire! The food bank building is on fire, and I’m afraid it’s going to spread to Pearl’s.”

Ellie’s heart froze. The food bank operated by Clare’s husband’s church was located in the building next to Pearl’s Perfect Pies in downtown Pumpkinseed Lake. Ellie’s Grandma Pearl had owned and operated western Wisconsin’s most famous pie shop until she’d had a minor stroke a few years ago and Ellie had stepped in to run things.

She ran to her dresser and yanked open drawers, looking for something—anything—clean to throw on. She balanced the phone between her ear and shoulder and hopped on one foot while she stuffed the other into the leg of her second-best jeans. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”

“Hurry!”

Ellie grabbed her parka, jammed her feet into her Sorels, and raced out to the garage. She revved up her Jeep, threw it into Reverse, and thanked God the town was so small. She would be downtown in ten minutes— maybe eight.

As she approached the four-block-long business district, a glow lit up the sky, interrupted by plumes of smoke. Please don’t let it reach Pearl’s.

She pulled the Jeep into an empty space at the curb a couple of blocks away and ran toward the generalized commotion, her heavy boots crunching on the packed snow with each step. Three fire trucks—the entire fleet of the Pumpkinseed Lake Volunteer Fire Department—were parked in front of the food bank. Men in heavy, soot-stained yellow suits aimed hoses at the flames shooting from the roof at the back, and a small crowd of onlookers huddled on the sidewalk nearby.

As soon as Pearl’s came into view, Ellie’s breathing slowed a fraction. The building stood cold and dark, ignored by the firefighters. Thank God. If the pie shop burned down, Ellie would be out of a job, but Grandma Pearl might never recover.

Then she spotted Clare in the waiting group and jogged toward her. Clare’s long down coat barely stretched across the bulge of her tummy, and her dark hair hung in unruly ringlets beneath her knit hat. As Ellie approached, she took in her friend’s pale face, swollen eyes, and reddened nose.

She reached for Clare and hugged her tight. “Everything’s going to be okay. It looks like they’re getting the fire under control.” Scanning the onlookers, there was no sign of Clare’s husband. Surely he hadn’t let his very pregnant wife come out alone in the middle of the night. “Where’s Karl?”

“He sh…should be here any minute. He’s d…dropping Jacob off to spend what’s left of the night at his parents’ house. I’m s...s...sorry I woke you.” Clare snuffled then pulled off one mitten and fumbled in her pocket for a tissue. She blew her nose noisily. “You didn’t need to come down. The fire didn’t spread to Pearl’s, after all.”

Ellie lifted her gaze to the top of the building, where firefighters had reduced the columns of flame to a few flickers. “No, but the food bank…”

“I don’t know what we’re going to do.” Tears trickled down Clare’s cheeks. “The shelves were stocked for the holidays. So many families depend on us.”

Ellie gave her shoulders a squeeze. “Don’t worry. The town will come together. We’ll find a way. We always do.”

A firefighter in full turnout gear approached them. When he removed his helmet, Ellie’s brows drew together and her jaw tightened. Thick, black hair—curling and damp with sweat—brushed his forehead above sky-blue eyes, a crooked nose, and strong, square jaw. Tyler O’Neil, Clare’s brother, the unofficial Playboy of Pumpkinseed Lake. And even better looking than the last time she saw him, if that was possible.

Ellie had known Tyler nearly all her life, but because he was four years older, she’d never known him well. To be completely honest, she’d harbored a secret crush on him for years, but she and Clare had never been more than minor annoyances, mosquitoes buzzing around the greatness that was Tyler O’Neil, Pumpkinseed Lake’s favorite son—the only local puck jockey to go on to the NHL. A knee injury might have ended his playing career, but it hadn’t put a dent in his local celebrity. He’d taken over the family construction business and grown it into one of the largest employers in town.

Their paths had rarely crossed in the past few years, which was fine by Ellie. The town grapevine provided more than enough information. Her friends, both single and married, carried on about Tyler as if he were God’s gift to the women of Pumpkinseed Lake instead of just a retired meathead hockey player. Although she had to admit he was easy on the eyes, over the years she’d heard enough double entendres about his ability to put the puck in the net to make her ears bleed.

Suddenly, Ellie realized he was speaking. And she’d been staring. Heat rose in her cheeks.

“—think it started in the motor of one of the freezers. The rear of the building and the roof have suffered significant structural damage. The interior of the main room and the shelves are intact, but there’s a lot of smoke and water damage. I don’t think you’ll be able to salvage much food.”

“But it’s only a week until Christmas,” Clare moaned. “And I’m so big I can hardly move.”

“I’m sure Karl and the rest of the congregation will help you pull something together.” Tyler wiped the back of his hand across his forehead, leaving a pale streak in the soot. “It doesn’t have to be fancy. People will appreciate anything the church can do.”

“Karl is so busy right now he doesn’t have a minute to spare.” As Clare contemplated the smoking building, her lower lip began to tremble again. “And it’s almost the end of the year. There isn’t enough money in the church treasury to rebuild.”

Her friend’s desolation broke Ellie’s heart. Clare was always so bubbly and upbeat. It hurt to see her crushed this way. “You have insurance, don’t you?”

Clare sniffed and nodded. “Yes, but there’s no way we can file a claim, get the money, make repairs, and re-stock the shelves in a week.”

Tyler stepped forward and put his arm around his sister. “I don’t want you to worry about a thing. Ellie and I will make this happen.”

He called me Ellie. He hasn’t said a word to me in ten years, but he remembered my name.

When he shifted his intense blue gaze to meet hers, she shivered. Maybe her friends were on to something after all. Tyler O’Neil had a way of making a girl want to say yes.

Besides, she couldn’t say no to the watery hope in Clare’s eyes. With orders for more than two hundred pies to fill in the next week, she had no idea where she would find time to do anything about the food bank, but she’d manage. She nodded and tried to smile. “Of course.”

Clare reached for her hand and pulled her close until the three of them formed a solid unit. “You two are the best. You’ve never let me down.”

Tyler looked over his sister’s head at Ellie. “We can get together around ten at Pearl’s for a strategy session.” One corner of his mouth rose in a half-smile just before he winked.

She swallowed hard. What had she gotten herself into?

This story appears in the collection Small Town Christmas Tales. 

A New Release - Happy Birthday to Me! by Alison Henderson

Tomorrow is my birthday and I'm celebrating! After two long years, I have a new book out. Small Town Christmas Tales is officially released in both Kindle and paperback versions. Woohoo!

Fellow Roses of Prose, please take a bow. This book is dedicated to you, because without your support and inspiration, I never would have written it. I've enjoyed our annual holiday short stories so much I wrote a whole book of them! Barb and Diane helped critique them, and Jannine edited the entire collection. It really was a group effort, and I'm very grateful.

The stories run the gamut from funny to poignant but are all warm and upbeat--like ten mini Halllmark Channel Christmas movies. I've set each story in a fictional small town in a different state, many in places I've lived or know well. I hope readers will make a connection with the settings as well as the characters.I had great fun inventing towns like Porter's Landing, MA; Hawthorne Springs, MO, Little Moose Island, ME; Black Bear Creek, CO; Cypress Cove, CA; and Hard Luck, WY. Who knows? One day I may visit some of these towns again in a full-length book.

If you've read the book, thank you! If not, and you want a little boost getting in the holiday mood, I invite you to check it out here. And, as always, reviews are most welcome!

Alison 

www.alisonhenderson.com