Risking It All for Love (A Christmas in Snow Valley Romance) (8 page)

Sprinting
through
the gates of the carnival, I ignored the shouts behind me. Within seconds, I’d
unlocked my car, jumped in, slammed the door, and tore out through the gates of
the fairgrounds.

Headlights lit up my rearview mirror. Someone was following me.

Was it James Douglas? Stalking me, or making sure I got home okay?

“Don’t be a jerk,” I told myself fiercely, wiping at my wet face
with rough fingers. “He’s not a stalker.”

When I eased into the driveway of my house and turned off the
ignition, the car behind me slowly cruised past, and then the headlights
disappeared.

“You sure know how to run a guy off. Score zero for Jessica
Mason.”

Maybe I was crazy.

Maybe I’d been too harsh.

Maybe I was permanently broken.

I slept fitfully that night, punching my pillow over and over
again as I heard my family coming in. A knock at my door from my mother and
then my father, which I ignored.

In my dreams that night, I ran and ran and never got anywhere. I
didn’t know what I was trying to find. I couldn’t understand why the pit of my
stomach was sick and raw.

I relived the car crash. The days spent in the hospital. The
moment when I knew Michael was dead.

Then I dreamed of James Douglas. His soft touch, his kind words,
his honesty. Those crystal blue eyes, filled with compassion and understanding
sinking into mine, holding me to him in ways I’d never felt with Michael.

How did James know what I was running from? It was uncanny. Like
he’d taken a lot of psychology classes. Or was born with some sort of innate
talent or compassion.

Or he was a Pastor-in-training and got revelation from God. Or,
and this was more likely, he’d been where I was now stuck, because of his
mother’s sudden death. Maybe he understood what I was feeling more than I did.

And, even though I didn’t want to admit it, James Douglas was like
a tonic to my heart. A friend I hadn’t had for a long time. He’d already become
a catalyst for change in my life. He was bringing me back to life in a whole
new way.

Maybe it
was
time to take a step away from my grief, even
if it was just the first baby step.

At last, I woke to a gray morning, buried under the warm
comforter. But this time there were no tears on my pillow.

I heard the sounds of the shower. My family getting ready for
church.

When I staggered to the hall bathroom, Catherine came out dressed
in heels and nylons. “You look terrible,” she told me.

“That bad, huh?”

“Were you drinking last night?”

“No! I’m not an idiot. Jeez, thanks.”

“Sorry. Are you sick?”

“No, not really. Just sick at heart.”

“I saw you with James Douglas at the carnival. I think it’s funny
Sam’s girlfriend, Lydia, is his sister.”

“Why would that be funny?”

Catherine blinked at me. “I don’t know, just kind of, you know, a
coincidence.”

I nudged her aside. “Let me get in the shower now before all the
hot water is gone.”

“You coming to church today, then?”

I shook my head, just as Mom came upstairs to help get Amber and
Joanie dressed in stockings and frilly red Christmas dresses.

“Oh, honey, really? It’s Christmas week,” Mom said. “You’re not
coming to church with us?”

“I have something important to do. Maybe I’ll catch the end of the
sermon. Don’t save a seat if that’s what you’re thinking. But I’m planning on attending
the Christmas Eve Pageant. ”

“I guess that’s better than nothing,” Mom said with a small smile.

It was a relief when my family was finally running to the car,
steam pouring out of the exhaust pipes, then the van disappearing into the
morning fog.

I stood at the front windows, staring at cars gingerly driving past
the house in the slush of winter.

I bundled up in my heavy coat and gloves and hat and boots.

And walked to church. It was almost two miles, but I needed time
to think.

My feet were numb by the time I saw the sign:

Salvation
guaranteed or your sins cheerfully refunded.

“Ha!” I burst out.

Was salvation real, or just a feel-good moment?

My sin felt enormous. Heavy as an elephant on my shoulders and
heart. I was ensnared for life, imprisoned by my own guilt forever.

I took the long way around the church so nobody would look out the
stained glass windows and see me tramping past. The graveyard opened up to my
view and I slipped through the stone gates, heading straight to Michael’s
headstone.

I knelt in the cold, icy grass. Traced his name with my fingers.
Cried a little bit, but not as much as I used to.

“What am I supposed to do without you, Michael?” I finally
whispered. “I’ve tried to move on, make a life. I ran away from my family. But
no matter where I go, you haunt me. I can’t forgive myself for that night.”

The air was so still, so cold, but the gray of the sky lightened
to a pale blue and a weak sun warmed my chilled nose.

Sitting on the edge of my coat, I wrapped my arms around my
knees.

“How can I expect to forgive myself when I know I was lying to you
for a long time? Because that’s what this was all about. Yes, we’d been stupid
that night. But it was an accident, and the roads were bad. We should have
never left the house.

The sun touched down on Michael’s name and the dates of his life, giving
sudden clarity to so many things I’d been lying to myself about. Because my
guilt was actually based on a lie of my own making.

Michael had died believing in the lie that I loved him. That I
still wanted to marry him.

But we had both been lying. Clinging to our childhood promises and
fantasy because we
had
been the very best of friends.

Coming home was giving me a clarity I’d been avoiding. The truth
I’d been pushing away for a long time.

That last year of Michael’s life had been the year we’d pulled
away from each other, subconsciously—maybe even consciously—but
never speaking of it. Never admitting the truth to each other.

My voice was hoarse, the cold making me ache now. I couldn’t feel
my fingers.

“I did love you, Michael. I will always love you. But I knew I
wasn’t going to marry you. I knew we weren’t meant for that. And I was too
afraid to tell you.”

I’d continued to
live
that lie. Refusing to face the truth.
Refusing to let go of the guilt. Refusing to give myself permission to really
live again, and allowing myself to love again.

Burying my head in my arms, I sobbed for him. For me. For time
lost. For his beautiful life, gone.

“Oh, Michael, will you please
forgive me? I wasn’t the friend you should have had. I let you down. We should
have talked to each other, even if we knew the worst. We abandoned each other.”

There
was silence in the graveyard, but for the first time I’d spoken my lies and
fears out loud. It was the oddest thing. Part of me felt as though Michael was
actually there listening to the words—for the very first time—and healing
my tears. Becuase I’d finally spoken the truth.

Maybe that’s
what salvation was. Giving your sins and pain and heartache to God. He could
erase them. Ease them. And loved you in spite of your faults.

I lifted my face to the sun, wiping away the tears, rubbing my wet
nose against my coat sleeve.

Michael would have been pissed that I’d run away. That I’d been hiding
from the world.

I had to give myself permission now, not just to mourn him, but to
truly live again, knowing he would always care about me. For that was one thing
Michael always said: that he believed in me and my dreams. He always said that I
had a great life that was just waiting for me to grab hold of. He’d been trying
to tell me, in his own way, that we were free agents. Free to be friends
forever, but also free to move on with our lives.

I sat there until I could no longer feel my toes, despite the
thick double socks.

I glanced at the time on my cell phone. Church would be over in a
few minutes. People would come pouring out soon. I’d thought maybe I’d slip
into the last pew, hear the final Christmas hymn. Feel the warmth of my pretty
little Montana town.

The warmth of people who loved me. Still loved me despite the pain
I’d put them through.

The edge of my lips quirked up into a smile. I rubbed my thumb
along the cell phone. Then I pressed the Contact Page.

There was James Douglas’s phone number. Waiting for me to press
it.

How daring to call a guy!

Hey, maybe not so daring. After all, I was calling a Pastor.
Someone who could help me find salvation in so many ways. The thought made a
laugh bubble up my throat.

Taking a deep breath, I pressed the number. When I heard the other
end of the line ring, my chest tightened with anticipation.

James answered immediately. “Jessica?” he whispered. His voice was
deep with meaning. Light with hope.

I could hear organ music in the background. Perfect timing.

“Are you about to give the benediction?” I asked, unable to not tease
him just a little.

“No. I’m watching you from the window.”

I gulped. “You are?” I strained to see across the expanse of headstones
and angels and gates, then I turned away to hunker down over Michael’s grave to
stay out of the breeze that was turning my ears into ice cubes.

“Of course. We’re having church inside over here, but I think you
just had church by yourself in the cemetery.”

“I never thought of it that way. Maybe I did.”

“So why are you calling?”

“Oh, right. Um, I was calling to accept your invitation to the
Christmas Ball.”

I could practically see his smile through the phone. “I think
you’ve just made me the happiest Pastor in Montana.”

“Well, that was easy to do.”

“Hey, Jessica, can you stand up right now?”

“Um yeah. Why?”

“Because I’m about to step on you.”

“What?!”

I jumped up and saw James Douglas striding across the graveyard
toward me.

A sob caught in my throat. Dang, was I going to cry all over
again? I probably looked a complete mess. No makeup. Scraggly hair stuffed into
my knit cap. But I knew that Pastor James Douglas didn’t care one little bit.

We stood with our phones attached to our ears, watching each
other. He was coming closer with every second, his smile growing bigger and more
beautiful with each step. A happiness radiated from his gorgeous blue eyes as
big as the Montana skies.

A strange sense of relief streamed through my entire body and my
throat filled with a huge lump, so big I could hardly swallow. Could I do this?
Did I have the courage? Could I let go of the past?

A voice whispered in my ear.
Yes, you can.
Oddly, the voice
sounded just like Michael.

I ran.

Only this time I didn’t run away to my car, or the river, or New
Orleans.

I ran straight into James Douglas’s outstretched arms, launching
myself against him like a child who’d just received the best present ever. He lifted
me up easily, and his strength wrapped around me with a warmth I’d never felt
before.

“Oh, Jessica, I got you,” he whispered. “I’ve got you.” Then James
Douglas kissed my cheek, and then he kissed my tears, and he didn’t seem to
mind that I was a blubbering baby. His arms held me for the longest time—right
in sight of the entire congregation of Snow Valley Community Church who spilled
out the doors at the end of the service.

Were they all staring at us? At the moment, I didn’t care one way
or the other.

James’s breath tickled my ear as he softly said, “I’ll pick you up
at your house at eight o’clock Christmas night, then.”

“It’s a date,” I whispered back, sliding back down to the earth. I
couldn’t feel my toes any longer, but I didn’t care about that either.

James took a small step back so he could gaze into my eyes with
his perfect blue ones. His cradled my head with both hands, bringing me close,
while my palms reached up to touch his face. He gave me a warm, happy smile and
my eyes closed as our lips brushed in a tender, comforting kiss for the first
time. My stomach rose straight up my throat and I swear my heart was floating just
like the neon sign over Mr. C’s burger joint.

This man—this pastor-in-training—James Douglas was
mending me, healing my heart, one moment at a time. I was exactly where I
wanted to be. Exactly where I
needed
to be. Our lips barely brushed;
just a hint of promise, but it was enough for now. It was a beginning, and it
was filled with hope.