The Christmas Company. Alys Murray
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Sweet Potato Biscuits with Country Ham
The Christmas Company
Copyright @ 2018 Crown Media Family Networks
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereinafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Print ISBN: 978-1-947892-31-6
Ebook ISBN: 978-1-947892-28-6
To Mom, who taught me the magic of Christmas.
Chapter One
December 23
Some may have called Kate Buckner biased, but she believed no one on planet Earth did Christmas better than the small town of Miller’s Point, Texas. Okay, she was totally biased. After living there her whole life—almost twenty-seven years—she was allowed to love it, especially at this time of year. Miller’s Point was a special place all year round, but it had a glow of its own once the weather turned chilly. Yes, even Texas got chilly, though Miller’s Point accentuated the natural winter wind with more fake snow and crystal icicles than anywhere else in the world.
The town’s glow was only partly due to the lights strung around the town square’s famous Christmas tree. The rest came from the twinkling of thousands of others decorating every building in town.
Kate crouched precariously atop an eleven-foot ladder, her boots covering the “DANGER—DO NOT STAND ON TOP LEVEL” sticker. Her thighs burned as she reached out for her target… Just a little further… A little more…
“Hey!”
Kate froze atop the ladder. Even the subtlest of starts would send the ladder tipping, and she did not want to explain to Doctor Bennett how she cracked her skull open. Without moving anything but her eyes, she braved a glance down towards the cobblestones making up Main Street. In just a few hours, they would be covered in fake snow, but for now, they cleaned up nice, sparkling from last night’s rainfall. The familiarly muddy boots of Carolyn Bishop, however, ruined the perfect cleanliness—and Kate’s view. Kate would’ve smiled if she hadn’t been deathly afraid the slight movement of muscles would send her toppling down to the cold, hard ground.
Her official job title was “Director of Festival Operations,” but everyone called her Miss Carolyn, and for good reason. With her eternally good-natured smile and cracked skin testifying to how long she’d been living here, everyone generally considered her the town matriarch. The silver-haired woman with narrowed brown eyes stood lower than five-foot-nothing, but her presence towered over Miller’s Point. Kate loved her almost as much as she feared her, which explained the slamming of her heart when she heard the worried accusation in Miss Carolyn’s voice.
“What are you doing up there?”
“This light is out!”
Kate stretched her fingers. She was so close, and if she could only just reach… She grabbed ahold of a tiny bulb and twisted it. Once, twice, three times. There. The light flickered on, joining the rest of its illuminated brethren on the thick, green cord. It was only one piece of a very, very large puzzle, but Kate felt that the little details made all the difference. Miss Carolyn, for her part, didn’t share Kate’s enthusiasm for tiny lightbulbs or women who put themselves in dangerous situations to fix them.
“You’ve got to be the most hardheaded girl in town! Get down here before you fall and break your neck! No, you know what? A fall might actually do you some good. Maybe it’d knock some sense into you!”
As she made her way down the ladder, Kate couldn’t help but survey the square surrounding her. She would never joke about something as important as Christmas, but she definitely wasn’t kidding about the grandeur of Miller’s Point. Every