Hearts Evergreen: A Cloud Mountain Christmas\A Match Made for Christmas (12 page)

“C
hristmas carols are for old fogies. We should do a rap instead,” Mandi announced from the backseat of the church van as it headed toward Bonnie Lane. “What do you guys think?”

Sarah glanced in the rearview mirror just in time to see Jennifer and Alyssa put their heads together for a quick consultation. Judging from the expressions on their faces, the decision was Christmas carols 2, rap 0.

“I even made one up.” Mandi began to slap her hands against her knees in an uneven rhythm. “Do you want to hear it?”

“Um…sure.” Emma gulped the word.

“Hey, all you shepherds, gather up your flocks. Head to Bethlehem to see a king that
rocks
…”

Sarah knew she had less than a mile to pull together a decent argument as to why traditional carols were the best way to go. Unfortunately, her ability to sway someone to her way of thinking had been put to the test earlier that afternoon during a meeting with Pastor Phillips and the outcome hadn't been very successful.

It was all
his
fault.

Not Pastor Phillips. Connor Lawe.

Right after she'd closed the shop, she'd headed over to the church to talk to Pastor Phillips. On the way there, she'd compiled a short list of reasons—reasonable reasons—why it wouldn't be a good idea for Connor to follow the girls while they made their deliveries.

Number 1. She'd spent a precious hour of her afternoon scanning some of his articles on the Internet. Not only did Connor Lawe
not
believe in faith, hope and love, he was deeply suspicious of anyone who did. Which definitely made her and the girls a target for his poison pen.

Number 2. The Good News-grams were meant to be personal. Private. A message to a loved one. Even though they'd sometimes have to deliver them in a public place, doing so under Connor's critical eye would steal something special from the moment.

Number 3. He gave her the jitters.

Sarah had mentally scratched that one off the list. She couldn't confess to her pastor that Connor Lawe played havoc with her senses like a lightning bolt strike to a circuit board. She didn't understand it herself. One minute she felt sorry for him—his career exposed the dark side of mankind while hers celebrated its goodness—and the next minute she wanted to shake the arrogance out of him.

Pastor Phillips had listened while she pleaded her case. One of the things she respected most about Lakeshore Fellowship's personable young pastor was his James 1:19 personality.
Everyone should be quick to listen, slow to speak and slow to become angry.

He listened to her pour out her reasons and when he finally did speak, Sarah realized she needed to work on planting that particular verse in her heart. Again. Because Pastor Phillips' reasons turned out to be just as reasonable as hers.

Nothing happens by coincidence or accident, Sarah. Maybe someone will pick up a copy of the News and their life will be touched by Connor's article. Or it might challenge someone to reach out to someone they've been estranged from. Or give them the courage to say “I love you.”

How could she argue with that?

In the end, she gave in. Fortunately, when she'd stopped by the church to pick up the girls, there was no sign of Connor. Maybe a scientist had discovered a rare bug in the rainforest and he'd left to get an interview. With the scientist, not the bug.

“Why are you smiling, Sarah?” Emma's voice tugged her back to reality.

“Because she liked my rap. Didn't you, Sarah?” Mandi cast a smug look over her shoulder at Jennifer.

It was time to put the
slow to speak
part of James 1:19 into action.

“You're very creative, Mandi.” Sarah chose her words carefully so she wouldn't hurt the girl's feelings. Mandi's mother never made her daughter participate in anything at church other than Wednesday nights, so Sarah was thrilled when Mandi had committed to deliver the Good News-grams with the rest of the girls. She didn't want to do anything to discourage her. “I think we should sing ‘O Little Town of Bethlehem' tonight. According to the woman who hired us, it's her dad's favorite Christmas carol.”

Mandi disappeared into the sheepskin lining of her jacket until only her eyebrows were visible.

“But maybe you can teach us the words so we can sing it another time.” Alyssa's enthusiastic prompt brought an echo of agreement from Emma and Jennifer.

Mandi's nose emerged. Her muffled “okay” allowed Sarah to breathe again. The girls looked out for each other. They were getting it. The thought warmed her more than a cup of hot chocolate.

“Here we are.” Sarah eased the unwieldy church van to the side of the street and turned off the engine.

None of the girls moved.

Sarah frowned, taking in their surroundings for the first time. Bonnie Lane split in half at the city limits. To the west, the road traced the picturesque shore of Jackson Lake. To the east, it rolled past the gravel pit to a mobile-home court that had sprouted from an abandoned tract of farmland.

The moonlight cast an eerie blue glow on the snow-capped roofs of the houses and the spindly trees that shuddered in the wind.

“It's kind of creepy,” Jennifer whispered.

Mandi snorted but didn't seem to be in a hurry to jump out of the van, either.

“Jennifer, you grab the trumpet. It's on the floor behind your seat. Emma and Mandi, your wings are hanging in the garment bag in the back.”
Never let them see you sweat.
A good motto for athletes, corporate execs and, Sarah had discovered, youth leaders.

Besides that, she knew better than to judge a book by its cover. Or people by the house they lived in. One of the more conventional dwellings in her gypsy-like childhood had been a rustic cabin in a national park. Some of the more unconventional included a sailboat, a two-person tent and an old lighthouse on the Lake Superior shoreline.

Headlights speared the darkness as a mammoth SUV careened up the street and ground to a stop, spitting up slush and snow only inches from the van's bumper.

Emma pressed her nose against the window. “It's that man again.”

When Sarah had picked up the girls at church, she'd told them that a reporter from
The Jackson Lake News
had Pastor Phillips' permission to accompany them that evening. They'd shrieked in delight. Not exactly the response Sarah had been hoping for.

“He's going to write an article about
us
?” Jennifer had asked, immediately fishing a compact mirror out of her patchwork leather purse to check her braces for traces of the red licorice they'd been munching on.

“That's right.”
A biased, slanted article about church corruption or blatant heart-tugging plots designed to fill the smiley-face banks in the Sunday schoolrooms.

She didn't say that, though. It definitely fell into the
slow to become angry
category.

Connor tapped on her window. Sarah opened the door a crack. “I thought you decided not to come.” The words were out before Sarah could stop them.

“You mean, you were hoping.”

“I don't care what people say. You
are
quick.” Sarah clapped a mittened hand over her lips. Obviously she needed to do more than simply memorize James 1:19. She needed to wallpaper her apartment with the verse.

Connor's husky laugh went straight through her. With his guard down, maybe she could try one last time to convince him to find another story to write about. She slipped out of the driver's seat and eased the door closed so the girls couldn't eavesdrop on their conversation.

“The woman who sent us here mentioned that her Dad has been kind of depressed since he retired. I don't think he's going to be comfortable have you sticking a microphone in his face—” Sarah suddenly noticed the camera hanging around his neck “—or taking his picture.”

“Everyone likes having their picture taken.” Connor shrugged. “You should know that. Your business is built on it, right?” Sarah might have argued the point if he'd given her the chance. “I planned to bring Marcus, the staff photographer, with me, but I decided to take the photos myself.”

Hope tweaked her heart. Maybe a sensitive heart did beat under that expensive leather jacket.

“He had a hockey game tonight.”

Or maybe not.

Silently, Sarah repeated Pastor Phillips' motto.
No accidents or coincidences with God. No accidents or coincidences with God.

“I'll fade into the background. You won't even notice I'm there.”

Six-foot-two. Broad shoulders, muscular frame. Windswept, toffee-colored hair. Eyes the color of mercury.

Sure she wouldn't.

Connor heard a giggle and noticed the girls standing shoulder to shoulder several yards away. Grinning. He had no experience with kids—especially preteen girls—but if he had to guess, he'd say they were up to something.

His gaze moved back to Sarah. She looked adorably frustrated. Probably because her last-ditch effort to get him to scrap the article had crashed and burned. With his eyes, he traced the delicate lines of her face, lingering on the pert nose. He flicked a glance at her left hand. Under that bright red mitten, there had to be a ring.

A woman like Sarah Kendle was the poster child for hearth and home. The quaint touches he'd noticed in her shop—the comfy chairs near the window display and the urn of hot chocolate—encouraged customers to linger. Which meant Sarah was either a shrewd businesswoman who understood that the longer a person stayed, the more money they spent, or she really did want people to feel at home in her store.

So if feathering the proverbial nest was so important to her, why did she choose to spend her evenings traipsing around in the cold with her ragtag group of “angels” to tell people that God loved them and looking like she believed it might really make a difference?

He barely remembered his mother, Natalie, but he remembered hearing similar platitudes after she died. She'd been a woman of faith, too, but in the end it hadn't been enough to keep her with them. He hadn't only lost her; in the ways that counted, he'd lost his father, too. It was as if Natalie's love had held their family together and when she was gone, silence eventually crept through the house and filled it, leaving no room to breathe. Robert escaped into his work and eventually Connor followed in his footsteps. But he'd escaped from…everything. A house that held only painful memories. A small town that stifled him. And a father who refused to grieve.

And now he was back. Standing ankle-deep in snow. Trying to figure out how to convince his father to sell the business he'd poured his life into. And about to write an article that had the potential to destroy any future relationship with a wide-eyed optimist who sported a crown of untamed auburn curls and offered a generous smile to cranky cooks and tired waitresses.

Connor mentally shook himself. The freezing temperature had not only numbed his toes, it must have numbed his brain. Relationship? The word wasn't in his vocabulary. He'd let his career fill every nook and cranny of his life. There wasn't room for anything—or anyone—else. Especially someone like Sarah Kendle.

His survival instincts kicked in and he retreated into reporter mode. Waving his camera at the girls, he motioned them over. “Can I get a picture before we go inside?”

The carrot-top bounded over to him and the rest of them followed. “I can't find the trumpet, Sarah.”

Sarah disappeared into the van again and Connor found himself alone with Sarah's “angels.” He'd been in dangerous situations in the past, but something in these bright, curious pairs of eyes sent a shiver of fear up his spine.

“Since I'm going to be following you around for a few weeks, you should tell me your names,” Connor suggested.

“Jennifer Sands.” The carrot-top spoke up first and gave him an engaging smile, revealing a mouthful of metal. The green and red rubber bands stretched between her braces had obviously been chosen with the holiday season in mind. “This is Emma and Mandi and Alyssa.”

Jennifer was the queen bee. The other girls—even the one with the sour expression—huddled around her as if she were a quarterback on Super Bowl Sunday.

Connor relaxed. His imagination must have been playing tricks on him. These were twelve-year-old girls. Even without Sarah's cooperation, they should be easy to manage.

He lifted the camera and adjusted the focus. The girls jiggled and twitched like a litter of puppies. His head started to swim.

“Aren't you going to wait for Sarah?” Jennifer asked.

“Um…” Connor hadn't planned to include Sarah. Behind those calm, Caribbean blue eyes lurked a sense of humor. She'd cross her eyes or stick out her tongue at him. He just knew it.

“She's pretty, isn't she?” Emma blinked up at him.