Page 21 of The Holiday Gift

Losing her husband and becoming a widow at thirty-two had changed her in substantial ways. Sometimes she wasn’t even sure who she was anymore.

She had never considered herself particularly brave, though she had tried to put on a strong front for Hope and Celeste after their parents died. They had needed her and while she wanted to curl up into herself, she had tried to set an example of courage for her sisters.

After Travis died, she had wanted to do the same. That time, her children had needed her. She had to show them that even in the midst of overwhelming grief they could survive and even thrive.

Right now, that facade of strength seemed about to crumble to dust. In her heart, she was terrified and it seemed to be growing worse. She was so afraid of shaking up the status quo, setting herself up for more pain.

More than that, she was afraid of hurting Chase.

She wouldn’t worry about that now. Once they were alone, just the two of them, they could forget all this date nonsense and just be Chase and Faith again, like always.

Jenna McRaven didn’t ask questions when they asked if she had any to-go boxes. She pulled out a cardboard container that she loaded with two pieces of caramel-topped apple pie.

A moment later, without giving explanations to anyone, they grabbed Celeste’s luxurious coat and hurried outside into the December night.

Her breath puffed out as they made their way to his pickup but she wasn’t cold. She wanted to give credit to the fine cashmere wool but in truth she was still overheated from the warm dance floor and her own ridiculous nerves.

“Where should we go for dessert?” he asked. “What do you think about Orchard Park? It offers a nice view of town.”

She would rather go back to the Star N and change into jeans and a T-shirt. Barring that, Orchard Park would have to do. “Sounds good,” she answered.

He turned on a Christmas station and soft, jazzy music filled the interior of his pickup truck as he drove the short distance from the reception hall to an area of new development in Pine Gulch.

A small subdivision of single-family homes was being built here on land that had once been filled with fruit trees. The streets had names like Apple Blossom Drive, Jubilee Lane and McIntosh Court and only about half the lots had new houses.

Chase pulled above the last row of houses to a clearing at the end of the road, probably where the developer planned to add more houses eventually.

He put the vehicle in Park but left the engine running. Warm air poured out of the vents from the heater, wrapping them in a cozy embrace.

“I’m sorry I didn’t think to get a bottle of wine but I should have some water in my emergency stash.”

He climbed out and rummaged in a cargo box in the backseat before emerging with a couple of water bottles.

Given the harsh winters in the region, most people she knew kept kits in their vehicles with water bottles, granola bars and foil emergency blankets in case they were stranded in a blizzard.

“Don’t forget to replenish your supply,” she said when he slid back in the front seat.

“I won’t. Nothing worse than being stuck in four-foot-high drifts somewhere with nothing to drink but melted snow.”

That had never happened to her, thankfully. She unscrewed the cap and took a drink of the water, which was remarkably cold and refreshing, then handed him the to-go carton of pie Jenna had given them along with the fork her friend had provided.

“I guess it’s fitting we should eat an apple pie here,” she said.

His teeth gleamed in the darkness as he smiled. “Anything else wouldn’t seem as appropriate, would it?”

With the glittery stars above them and the colorful lights of town below, she took a bite of her pie and nearly swooned from the sheer sensory overload.

“Wow. That’s fantastic,” she breathed. It was flaky and crusty and buttery, with just the right hint of caramel. “Jenna is a master of the simple apple pie. I’ve got her recipe but I can never make it just like this. I don’t know what she does differently from me or Aunt Mary or my sisters but it’s so fantastic.”

“Even without ice cream.”

She laughed. “I was thinking that but didn’t want to say it.”

It seemed a perfect moment, so much better away from the public social pressure of the party. She took a deep breath and realized she hadn’t fully filled her lungs all evening. Stupid nerves.

“I love the view from this area,” she said. “Pine Gulch seems so peaceful and quiet.”

“I suppose it looks so peaceful because you can’t see from up here how old Doris Packer is such a bitter old hag or how Ben Tillman has a habit of shortchanging his customers at the tavern or how Wilma Rivera is probably talking trash about her sister-in-law.”

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